Sweet Madness
by dogstar-ebony
Summary: What do you do when everything you've ever believed in is forced into question? Draco Malfoy is about to find out....and learn the true power of obsessive love along the way. DMHG.
1. Just A Problem

**A/N: I don't normally go for this ship but I decided to experiment and now really love it, because let's face it, who doesn't secretly love Draco?**

**Disclaimer: I own none of these marvy characters, much as I like to pretend I do. They are JKRs.**

**Summary: What do you do when everything you've ever believed in is forced into question? Draco Malfoy is about to find out...and learn the true power of obsessive love along the way.**

* * *

He was doing it again.

He didn't mean to - tried his hardest not to, in fact. The very idea was absurd. But it had been happening more and more lately.

When it had first happened, he'd dismissed it. He was Draco Malfoy, it was ridiculous! As things had progressed he'd found it occurring with increasing frequency, until it had finally got to the point that he was unable to control it.

What was wrong with him? When had he suddenly lost the ability to decide where his eyes roamed, what his imagination conjured? What had happened to him, to make him feel this way, to make him love that-

'No'. The utter conviction behind that one word was audible as it rang about the silent confines of his dormitory. Thank goodness it was empty - which of course, it would be, it was breakfast. Crabbe and Goyle missing a meal was like Voldemort suddenly announcing that he loved all Mudbloods and muggles and was setting up a charity devoted to preserving and protecting them; never in a million years.

And yet, Draco would have said the same thing about his current…_problem_. Because that's what it was, he'd decided. Nothing more than a troublesome problem.

'You're being stupid.' He told himself firmly, as he roughly pulled his shirt over his head. 'It isn't _love_.' As if to illustrate this point he tugged the shirt hard. A little too hard; it ripped and, cursing, he tossed it into the corner and sank down onto the bed, head in hands.

What was _wrong _with him? What had he done to deserve this? It wasn't _love;_ if anything it should be extreme dislike. Hatred, even. And the stupid, ironic truth was that, until recently, it had been. So what had changed? Why couldn't he just be satisfied with Pansy Parkinson?

This question was answered for Draco as he left the dormitory for breakfast. Pansy, true to form, was waiting outside for him (though she tried to pretend it was a coincidence that she was alone in a deserted corridor when everyone else had gone down for breakfast ten minutes ago) and rushed towards him the second he emerged, a huge (and frankly scary) smile plastered across her wide, flat face.

Draco regarded her for a moment. She really did look like a pug, Granger was right. Her nose was broad and flat above her wide, slack mouth; her eyes were a large bug-eyed brown that seemed to bore into him. They did so now, as she waited for the response to her overly enthusiastic gabble.

'Hi Draco, didn't see you there, how are you? Fancy breakfast?' She said all this very fast, and Draco blinked in shock.

'Yeah, lets go.' He didn't return her hello. Pansy, though, hadn't seemed to notice, and grabbing his arm, steered him forcefully towards the Great Hall, chattering inanely away as they went and seemingly oblivious to Draco's utter disinterest.

_Ah._ he thought sullenly. _This is why I look elsewhere. Who'd want to date the epitome of the phrase 'verbal diarrhoea'?_

It happened again as he walked into the Great Hall. A few eyes turned at their entrance (something Pansy found extraordinary pleasure in) but for the most part people were more interested in their fried eggs and bacon. Draco hurried to his seat, trying desperately not to look at her, but yet again his eyes let him down as he found them straying towards the table where she sat with her friends.

He continued to stare, oblivious to his surroundings. It was only when Pansy shrieked that he was spreading jam on his bacon that he snapped out of his reverie.

_STOP looking at her, Draco, _he scolded himself angrily. _She's the enemy, for God's sake. _Draco resigned himself to the way breakfast was clearly going to be as Pansy started her chatter once more (dear God, did the girl _ever_ shut up?) and ate his breakfast in silence. Yet still, snatched fantasies kept floating around in his head, unhelped by the fact he could see her hair shining from this angle, see the curve of her body as she shook slightly from laughter.

_He leans down, gently brushing his lips on hers, making her shiver pleasantly. His hands bury themselves in her hair as he pulls her close; her fingers have found the opening of his shirt and are trailing his chest gently, stroking the light dusting of hair. He murmurs into her mouth as her tongue begs for entrance, his hands slipping down now, down her neck, past her shoulders, resting lightly on her own chest. He fingers the buttons, opening them gently, slowly, tantalisingly revealing her to him…._

'Draco! What's wrong with you, you haven't heard a word I've said this last ten minutes!' Pansy's voice intruded on his daydream once more. How had he not noticed the way her voice grated on him before, the way its brittle, nasal quality set his teeth on edge? And, unbelievably, she _still _wasn't finished.

'You don't _listen _to me anymore, you don't even _care_, we're meant to be _together_ and you _never _listen to a word I say, why don't you pay attention to me anymore, what's changed? You're so _different _Draco, why have you changed, what -'

Draco cut her off, unable to listen to anymore. 'Maybe it's because I can't get a word in edgeways, Pan, because you never shut the hell up,' he snapped nastily. 'Or maybe it's because you bore the hell out of me and I can't be bothered to listen to it anymore. I'm sick of you and it's high time I found myself someone new. As a matter of fact, I already have. Deal with it.'

He pushed his plate from him and got up roughly, striding from the hall. He'd got some small satisfaction from seeing Pansy pale, watching her jaw drop in utter shock, which he knew was petty, but oh, it felt good. But what on earth was he thinking, saying he _had_ someone else? Nothing could be further from the truth.

True, he was Draco Malfoy; he could have his pick of quite a few girls. His steely blue eyes and carefully coiffed blond hair drew girls to him; his well-muscled physique and general height made them stay. Add to that his status, wealth and family and they were hooked, every one of them perfectly suited to pander to his every whim and massage his already overinflated ego, just as he liked them to. So why couldn't he choose one of them? Why did he have to pick the one girl he could never get, the one girl who'd never like him even so much as a friend?

Why did he have to pick Hermione Granger?


	2. A Problem Shared

**Hermione's POV**

**No one ever said life would be easy. No one ever said it would be simple. And no one ever said it would be straightforward.**

**But then again, no one ever said she'd decide to fall in love with the most inappropriate person ever. **

**She shook the hair from her eyes irritably and reached for the sugar bowl. This was ridiculous. When had she suddenly started referring to it as 'love'? This certainly wasn't love!**

**Was it love to spend every waking moment thinking about him? Was it love to feel her eyes irresistibly seeking him out the moment she entered a room, flickering constantly until they rested on his own steel ones? Was it love to imagine him, in _that_ way, in _that_ context, to wish for that sneering mouth to curve into a kiss upon her own?**

**Because, if it was, Hermione Granger was in bigger trouble than she had initially thought. Not that Ron or Harry seemed to have noticed; they both continued to shovel hash browns and sausages down their throats as though they hadn't eaten for a week. **

**'Slow down, you'll give yourselves indigestion!' she said, more out of habit than anything else. The boys rolled their eyes but slowed slightly. Ron even looked like he was chewing the food now. **

**'Worrav re goffirs?' he mumbled thickly through a mouthful of egg. Seeing Hermione's look he swallowed hurriedly and repeated himself. 'What've we got first?'**

**Hermione consulted her timetable - not that she needed to, she'd had it memorised from the instant they'd received it, though that had only been a fortnight ago. 'Potions with the Slytherins.'**

**'Oh, _brilliant_.' Ron groaned loudly. 'Really great start to a Monday morning, that is. We get to spend an hour in some dingy little dungeon with a giant grease ball and an arrogant git.'**

**Hermione felt herself smile along with the others as he and Harry launched into an attack on Malfoy, Snape, and the Slytherins in general, hoping they wouldn't notice the sudden spark behind her amber eyes. The butterflies that had sprung unbidden to her stomach. **

**They kept up the stream of abuse all the way to Potions, Ron wondering loudly whether Malfoy's face was a particularly nasty consequence of inter-breeding. As they reached the dungeons Hermione felt the now-familiar jolt in her stomach as she saw him standing there, leaning casually against the stone wall, looking haughty and bored. She barely had time to register the way his robes clung to his slender frame, the way his pale complexion seemed to glow under the flickering lights, before a familiar drawl rang out across the corridor. **

**'Potty, Weasel and Mudblood. I wondered what that stink was'**

**'Ron, _no!_' Hermione felt the cry tear from her lips from force of habit; she didn't have to be looking at Ron to know that he had just pulled his wand from his robes and was now pointing it at Malfoy with all the venom he possessed. Mouth curling into a snarl, he spat, 'Why don't you crawl back to whatever hole you came from Malfoy, or better yet, to Azkaban with your filth father. It's all you're good for.'**

**Malfoy blanched, a seemingly impossible feat for one already so white, and pink spots of anger appeared on his cheeks. 'Don't you dare insult my father, when _yours _associates with muggle scum. He'll be first, right after the muggles. And the Mudbloods' he added, shooting a particularly hate-filled look at Hermione before stalking off into the dungeons. **

** Hermione felt the familiar sting of tears at this derogatory remark, only slightly mollified by the knowledge that Ron and Harry would take it for upset at being insulted. Neither of them would read anything into it, and for once, Hermione was grateful for the lack of attention either paid to her personal life. With the obvious exception of Ron, whose affections she vehemently denied despite the giggled protestations of Lavender and Parvati. **

**'Oh come _on_, Hermione, get real!' Lavender had spluttered only last night. 'When are you going to admit it?'**

**'I have no idea what you're talking about,' Hermione had turned the pages of _Arithmancy in the 21st Century_ dignifiedly with one hand as she took notes with the other. **

**'Whatever'. Lavender had rolled her eyes and exchanged a meaningful glance with Parvati, who had dived headfirst under her sheet to muffle her laughter. 'OK, fine, shall I spell it out for you, as you're playing stupid?'**

**Hermione's eyes narrowed darkly. 'That depends on what you're trying to _spell_.'**

**'Oh please. Ron likes you, you like him, when are you going to get together?'**

**'I most certainly do _not_!' Hermione had said immediately. **

**'Well he likes you! He's always mooning over you, it's quite sad really…'**

**While Lavender and Parvati had gone off on their little Ron-is-in-love-with-Hermione spiel, Hermione had reflected on this comment. It wasn't that she hadn't noticed the things they were pointing out; she'd just chosen to ignore them. They wouldn't do her any good to recognize them - his jealousies, his interest in her romantic life, his prying into her business - all of these would only make things more difficult in the long run. She not only did not reciprocate his feelings, she had another bombshell to reveal to him. **

**She'd fallen for his biggest enemy. She'd fallen for Draco Malfoy. And she didn't think Ron's wounded pride or sense of morality would allow him to forgive her it. Hell, she could barely forgive it herself, much less understand it. **

**Malfoy? What was wrong with her? She had someone proffering their love to her on a silver platter (though not consciously, Hermione thought darkly, she highly doubted Ron even realised he was doing it, so dim could he be) and she had to choose the one person he truly hated. The one person she stood no chance with. His was not a dislike borne of mere inter-House rivalry, but a deep-seated hatred of the blood coursing through her veins. At her audacity for daring to breathe the same air, share the same castle, the same magic, as he and his so-called pure-blooded contemporaries. At her friendship with Ron, youngest son of one of the biggest muggle sympathisers and blood traitors going. Even more at her friendship with Harry, the boy Malfoy's father and his ilk wanted dead more than any other. Though, she now admitted to herself, this hatred would have existed had she been friends with anyone else, her parents had seen to that simply by being non-magical. **

**He'd proven that to her time and again with his hurtful comments - just now had been no different - and yet…and yet, somehow Hermione still held on, remained still hopeful that he'd change his attitude towards her. Her mother had always stood by that old saying - _Good things come to those who wait._**

**Unfortunately for Hermione, Mrs Granger's other favourite saying was _A leopard never changes his spots_. And it didn't look as though Draco was looking to change them any time soon. **


	3. Too Soon Spoken

This is really short and a bit poo as I'm really hot atm and trying to think whilst juggling a bowl of ice cream and a fan...RR anyway please, next chapter coming soon.

Draco's POV

'Oh _**Gooood**...' _Draco sat with his fingers wrapped tightly in his hair. 'What the hell is the matter with me?' he thought despondently. How could he ever persuade Hermione to see him as even friend material if all he ever did was insult her?

_Mudblood_. He corrected himself sharply. _Stop calling her by her name. That way madness lies._ He was determined to put this to the back of his mind, concentrate on other things.

Unfortunately, Pansy Parkinson chose that moment to seat herself next to him exclaiming in vacuous tones, 'Drakeyyyyyy! What's wrong, you're so _moody_ lately!'

Draco closed his eyes in consternation. _Oh dear God, why do you **hate** me?_ He didn't trust himself to speak - the last time he'd been in a mood remotely similar to this he'd been forced to endure what she clearly considered were her puppy-dog eyes for an entire week, and he didn't think his stomach could take a repeat viewing. Instead he fixed his steely eyes on her wet brown ones and forced a smile to his lips.

'Nothing's wrong. Bad mood, that's all.'

Pansy simpered happily and settled down next to him, oblivious to Draco's highly audible sigh and stiff posture. A loud _bang_ made the entire class jump (Draco noticed with irritation the dark looks Potter and Weasley cast in his direction as they filed past him - Granger however had the grace to look at the floor, a little red) as the tall, thin form of Severus Snape entered the dungeon.

'Books out, wands away, turn to page thirty-seven in complete _silence_,' he said in a bored voice that was barely more than a whisper, but which brooked no argument, and the dungeon was filled with the sounds of students riffling through their bags and flicking through their copies of _Advanced Potions_.

'Today we meet a new potion. This is a highly advanced concoction and it is extremely doubtful that most of you -' (here, Draco was pleased to note, he cast a dark look at Potter and Weasley, who glowered at him) '- will be successful in creating it. However, I am required to allow you the attempt, fruitless though it will clearly be. You will attempt to create the Desicoeur Potion - I see there is no need to ask for information. Our very own walking encyclopaedia is waving its arm around like a windmill - yes, Granger?'

'The Desicoeur Potion is the heart's desire potion. It shows you what you want, exactly what you want, and it's traditionally used by thieves and plunderers trying to find their way to hidden riches, as it's similar to a locator spell - it creates a beam of light which points the way towards the desire, whatev - '

'I asked for a brief descripition, Granger, not an essay. For once in your life know when to hold that incessant tongue.' Snape snapped at her. Hermione went very red and withdrew her hand.

'How about for once in _your_ life you leave her alone?'

Draco heard the voice but he didn't know where it came from. It spoke again, louder this time. 'You ask her questions and then complain when she tells you the answer!'

It wasn't until Draco saw incredulous faces turned in his direction that he realised, with a jolt of shock, that it came from him. It was as though someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him, such was the feeling of cold fear that ran through his body as he defended her, apparently against his will. None were more shocked than the Gryffindors. Potter looked utterly amazed, as though he'd been punched in the solar plexus. Weasley's face held complete revulsion tinged with disbelief, as though he'd just trodden in something disgusting and unusual. Hermione, however, was scarlet and trying very hard to hide it behind her textbook.

Snape recovered first.

'Well, since you seem so keen to befriend Granger perhaps you'd like to assist her in creating the potion she knows _so very much_ about? Yes, I think so. Switch places with Weasley, now. Weasley, you will work with Parkinson. Potter, partner Longbottom - but use your cauldron. I doubt Longbottom can afford to melt _another_ of his.'

The rest of the class was torture. Draco and Hermione worked alongside each other in utter silence, Hermione still a little pink in the face but apparently recovering slightly; her voice was surprisingly brisk as she issued orders to Draco such as 'You need to add more Gillyweed' , or, 'It says to stir in the Murtlap gradually'. Draco said not a word. He no longer trusted his mouth, his tongue, his lips. It was as though his body was mutinying against him. He could not believe he had said the words. Even to think them was bad, but at least then he could have hidden them, masked them with a veneer of cool hatred as he always had. But now? The entire class had heard him defend a Mudblood. How could he ever defend himself from something like that? An attack on himself had no defence. And yet...

And yet he could not help admiring her features in the flickering half-light of the candles that adorned the walls, throwing shadows across the room like faceless creatures. Her skin glowed, accentuating her cheekbones, and the dark curls that swirled about her face lent her a kind of elfin charm, though her wide brown eyes belied the intelligence in her. He noticed that while she worked she would wipe a hand across her eyes every so often, as if in exasperation, though in time he realised that it was as unconscious an act to her as breathing or blinking. She was slender but not ridiculously so, and despite the obvious awkwardness of the situation she seemed determined to avoid it, moving confidently about the workspace creating the potion and not looking at Draco even once.

He was a little disappointed by this. At least if she chanced a glance at him he could respond with a scathing comment or dark look to cover his tracks. But she was being so _difficult_! Draco sighed, resigned to his fate. He would have to do some serious thinking to get out of this one.


	4. Things Can Only Get Better

**A/N This is another relatively short chapter, but my excuse is it's bloody boiling!**

**NB: Desicoeur is a combination of two french words, **Désir **and **coeur**, which means 'heart's desire'**

**As always, I don't own the characters in this (the only thing not invented by JKR is the potion but that's not exactly important). RR please, thanks. **

It is a strange and curious fact of life that the more you are looking forward to something, the longer the minutes seem to take to pass, as though time is wading through treacle. You may stare at the clock for as long as you like; you will not see the changing hands. They seem to taunt you with their slowness, mocking you with their almost impossibly casual ticking. If you are feeling particularly desperate for time to pass, they may even play tricks with your frantic mind, so that you fancy that they are moving _backwards_.

If any knew this feeling, none knew it better than Draco Malfoy right now. He stared at his watch, willing it to move, his entire body racked with feeling as he prayed for this lesson to end soon. He could have endured the stares from his classmates - one well-placed sneer, full of the disdain he was so known for, would have quelled all but the bravest of them.

He could have withstood their whispered comments, their laughing, their giggling. He could even have endured the outright comments, the jokes at his expense.

But to have them look at him with disgusting pity in their eyes was more than his pride could bear. And worse…much worse…what would Hermione think of him now? Had she guessed? It wasn't unlikely - her intelligence was certainly no secret, she would guess eventually.

Draco sneaked a sidelong glance at her now. The scarlet fumes from the now gently simmering cauldron illuminated her face, but she seemed not to notice him. If anything, she seemed determined not to.

Draco cleared his throat nervously. _What is **wrong** with me?_ he thought irritably. _Why the hell am I nervous? Just say something. **Anything**. You can't exactly make this worse, can you?_

'Er…Granger?' he muttered in a would-be-casual-but-oh-so-anxious voice.

Hermione's voice, in stark contrast, seemed almost airy. Oddly it seemed to lack the usual sharpness with which she dealt with Draco, but he ignored this, deciding his own problem was far more important. 'Yes, Draco?'

He paused. Why hadn't he thought this through? _Idiot! _he scolded himself. _You should have decided what to say first!_

The pause dragged on. Draco became acutely aware of his breathing, his blinking. He desperately tried to think of a way to save himself from it. Start speaking. Sing. Anything. But he could do nothing. He had no idea what to say whatsoever. In one moment of panic he had forgotten the entire English language.

Hermione was watching him with a slightly bemused, but otherwise unreadable expression on her face. Her mouth curved a little - the ghost of a smile, but a knowing one. Draco found that he liked her when she was like this, when she was pensive. Just smiling that beatific smile. He liked her mouth. It was full-lipped but not ridiculously so. A generous mouth.

Thinking of Hermione's mouth made Draco one hundred percent conscious of his, and not in any way he would have liked. For one thing, it was flapping open like a fish gasping for air, and he hurriedly closed it, eyes locking onto the burnt wood of the desk. He couldn't meet her eyes now. He could swear he heard her laugh gently, under her breath. A barely audible chuckle.

And he was just sitting here. She had moved on, continuing to work as if nothing untoward had happened, and he, Draco, was sitting there, cheeks burning. In an attempt to cover his further embarrassment he seized the lionfish spine he'd been carefully shredding for the past ten minutes and flung it into the cauldron.

Too late he realised he had been too hasty, too heavy-handed, as the liquid inside the cauldron glowed cherry-red, and bubbled and spat like cooking fat, the dungeon filling with plumes of scarlet smoke.

_Wrong, Draco. You **can** make this worse. Much, much worse. _

When the smoke finally cleared and the eruption of coughing had died down, Draco was confronted with the pale face of Snape, who looked positively livid. When he spoke his voice was drawn and thin.

'So, Malfoy, not content with being rude and disrupting my lessons with your outbursts, it appears that you also see fit to choke us all in the process. Are you perhaps competing with Potter for the title of Most Arrogant?'

Snape continued, apparently oblivious not only to the filthy looks Harry now threw him, but also to the fact that he had gripped the back of Ron's robes to prevent him from launching himself at the professor. Ron was now purple faced as he fought to free himself.

'Or is it Longbottom's crown you seek to steal with your abysmal Potions efforts of late? This simply will not do. Come to my desk, Malfoy. Now.' The last word carried no further emphasis than the rest of the sentence, but it conveyed a kind of authority that even Malfoy, once Snape's favourite pupil, dared not disobey.

Rolling his eyes in an attempt at a guise of irritation, Draco slid from his chair and mooched to the front of the class, hands dug firmly in pockets, looking for all the world like the epitome of the bored trouble-maker whose punishments are so many that all meaning has ceased to exist.

Snape now addressed the class.

'I believe Miss Parkinson's Desicoeur Potion has been prepared properly. Miss Parkinson, kindly bring me a sample of your potion. Thank you. Malfoy shall test the effects of the Desicoeur Potion for the rest of you. Watch closely.'

Draco's steely eyes opened widely as Snape's words sunk in. _Oh shit…. _How could he take the potion now? He had an idea of what the outcome would be, and his entire body seemed to recoil with horror. Pansy Parkinson seemed to have aquired a grin far larger than usual and was now smoothing her hair expectantly, eyes locked on him. No, this couldn't happen, he couldn't let this happen. Draco frantically tried to think of any way of not doing it. None came.

Snape was now staring at him with cold hard eyes, and Draco suddenly decided that the consequences of drinking this potion would have to be preferable to the consequences of _not_ drinking it. An angry Snape was not a pleasant Snape in any way. What would come would come.

He sniffed the goblet carefully and his nostrils were immediately filled with the scent of juniper berries, pine scent and something he couldn't place. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drained it in one. It tasted cool and sweet and sharp, all at the same time.

In the darkness of the dungeon, Draco awaited the little points of light that would spell his social death or redemption….


	5. A Catalogue Of Desires

**A/N As always, I own none of these characters etc etc they're all the marvy JKR's creation and property. I'm just yoinking them for a bit. **

**Here's chapter five, hope you like it. It's a bit hard trying to describe the effects of a potion that a) doesn't exist and b) you've never taken, but that's the best I could think of when I wrote this, so enjoy! Chapter six coming soon (I'm really dragging this one out, aren't I!). And thanks for the reviews I've had so far :D**

It began with a curious feeling in his stomach, as though someone had emptied a basket of snakes in there, which not only were alive but also not particularly happy about their entrapment. His insides seemed to writhe, but not in an unpleasant way and he closed his eyes tightly against it.

It felt a little as though he'd just drunk a lot of cola (or something fizzy, anyway) and the gas was now bubbling around inside of him. He felt the feeling growing - no, not growing. _Moving_.

Tingling sensations were now running slowly up and down the length of his body, an oddly pleasant sensation as though he were being gently tickled. Dimly he could hear Snape's voice describing the effects of the potion to the class but he barely registered it - all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart as he began to realise fully what the effects of this potion would likely be for him.

Suddenly the feeling intensified, but seemed to centralise around his heart, and though he tried desperately to fight it his mind was racing, with everything he had ever wanted or hoped for since he was a child, as though someone were flicking rapidly through the catalogue of his life's desires -

_A horse - his own fencing sword- a racing broom - a better racing broom - his own maid - his wand - to be in Slytherin - various people sacked - Potter expelled - making his father proud of him - new, more expensive school robes - fashionable dress robes - _

_- _and now the images were slowing down, flickering less, and the same image seemed to keep surfacing again and again, in different poses, different outfits but still, unmistakeably -

-_ Hermione in dress robes at the Yule Ball, hair beautiful and sleek - Hermione arguing passionately, hair flying about a face alight with anger - Hermione laughing at a joke somebody made - Hermione sitting there, just studying and looking perfectly relaxed - Hermione smiling - _

_- _Draco lifted his hands to his head, burying his face in them, squeezing them against his eyes as though trying to cancel the images, trying to shut them out, stop the inevitable, but it wasn't working, the images still came thick and fast -

­ - _not scowling at him for once but smiling, a real smile - Hermione talking to him, easily, as though he were Potter or Weasley - having an interaction with her that didn't result in tears or anger - _

_-_ Draco fought harder, trying to force the images from his mind, replace them with something else, something better - he focused on Pansy, trying to replicate the images in his mind with her in Hermione's stead but his insides recoiled in protest and his feeble attempt failed as Hermione continued to fill his mind -

­_- hugging her to him and her not shrinking from his touch, but hugging back - her hand reaching out for his, fingers intertwining as though made for each other - his mouth moving on hers - _

- No - what was he doing - this was wrong- he couldn't want her - he could not want a Mudblood - it was against every one of his beliefs - he would never live it down - what would his father say - what would people think - outcast - reject - shame -

Draco's thoughts seemed to explode in his head, a thousand voices of protestation but still the images burned on and he was powerless to stop them - part of him didn't want to and welcomed them -

- _his hand in her hair - her body fitting the contours of his, like spoons - the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingers - _

_- _the images were slowing, slowing….they rested on one final picture, the best one of all and the most damaging -

_- just Hermione. _

The tingling sensation had stopped. All he could see was Hermione, and he felt a kind of tearing sensation at his breast as though something were being pulled out of him, though there was no pain.

He opened his eyes slowly, agonisingly, to watch as little points of emerald light appeared in front of his face, like tiny insects of his will, until in all there were seven. The entire class watched, agape, as they whirled around his body before finally shooting out around the dungeon.

It was as though a swarm of bees had been let loose, though a small one. They hurtled about the room as though possessed, seemingly going nowhere, flying about where the fancy took them, but gradually their purpose became clear to the watching students.

They were seeking something.

The room was deathly silent. All eyes were fixed on the little green orbs as they flitted about. For a moment they hovered over the smug head of Pansy Parkinson, who preened herself happily and then caused Ron Weasley to give a snort of derisive laughter as her face fell when they flew off.

They dipped in and out of every potion in the dungeon, weaved through the heads of the students, danced about every person in the room, but still did not find the one they sought.

By the time they finally came to rest on Hermione, the entire class was silenced by disbelief. To say that they were shocked would be an understatement in the extreme, and suddenly the dungeon seemed to erupt with the sounds of hissed whispers.

Draco Malfoy, acknowledge believer of pure-blood supremacy and hater of muggles and muggle-borns alike? How could he possibly like Hermione Granger, who epitomised all that he stood against, much less _love_ her, especially after all the hatred he had always shown her? How long had he felt like this for?

But when they turned to the front to address these questions to him directly, they found they were unable.

Draco Malfoy had disappeared.


	6. Being A Malfoy

**Here's Chapter Six, hope you like it…Chapter Seven will be here soon too, and I _will_ go back to actually giving Hermione's side too, so far she's only had input in Chapter Two! Enjoy!**

Draco's POV

Draco could not remember the last time he'd felt so trapped in such a large space. Everywhere around him there seemed to be walls, real and imagined, and with the tenacity of a laboratory animal, he sought only one thing - escape.

He had slipped from the dungeon surreptitiously as the class stared transfixed at the little orbs of light. He had guessed the outcome from the offset - he may be blonde but he was no fool. His pride had not allowed him to look at Hermione lest someone guess the result first, but as soon as he had seen the lights whizzing in the perimeter of Hermione's curly head he had taken his chance and bolted.

He was now speed-walking through the maze of corridors that made up Hogwarts Castle. Once the bane of his life, he now silently thanked the founders for creating a school whose corridors and stairways were fond of moving around - it meant he could be followed less easily.

Draco had always been what he'd describe as self-reliant. Someone like Pansy, who was half in love with him and would have said he was the God of all gods if it got her into his trousers, would have called him aloof, but she would have decided it was a compliment. Strong and silent type. Someone like Potter, however, - with his adoring groupies and who had harboured a hatred for Draco since they had first met, when Draco's only crime had been to extend the hand of friendship only to be rebuked, - would call him a loner. Anti social.

It wasn't true though. Draco had never needed other people's company like other children of his age. When the other children of his town were playing together, Tag and Catch and football, Draco had been horse riding, or walking the Manor's grounds lost in thought. It was the same today - his friends weren't so much friends as followers, people who wanted a piece of what he had. His wealth. His looks. His background.

Draco was like his father in this sense. Self-reliant and self-serving, he had a tendency to look upon others with derision. In some ways, Lucius Malfoy was to blame for his only son's attitude.

'Trust no one, Draco. Fools who tell the world their feelings and freely place their trust in others will not survive in this world. And never forget what you are. You are a Malfoy.'

Draco sank to his knees suddenly. He was now in the grounds, well away from prying eyes. His father's words echoes in his mind, taunting him. _You are a Malfoy_.

'I don't want to _be _a Malfoy anymore!' he screamed to the sky, a clear cloudless expanse of blue that seemed to mock him with the stark contrast to how he was feeling. What good had being a Malfoy ever done him, really?

It was a prerequisite to despise Harry Potter and everything he stood for, all who associated with him. Yet Draco had not wanted to, had seen nothing in him to hate. His arrogance on the Quidditch pitch was all Draco could find to fault him, but given his talent this was no surprise. Yet Draco's father had insisted that Potter was lowest of the low, drummed it into Draco that this was a friendship that could never survive, and Draco had accepted this in time and acted accordingly.

Being heir to the Malfoy estate and fortune meant he had people like Pansy Parkinson hanging on to him; fake, vacant people on every side trying to curry his favour and get in his good books.

But the worst part was Hermione Granger. Being a Malfoy meant that, should he do anything about his attraction to her, he would automatically be disowned, and not only by his family. His entire House would turn against him, every one of his so-called friends, his father's acquaintances. Yet her only crime was to be the daughter of muggles.

'Mudbloods are filth, Draco. They are corrupting the name of wizard with their foul ways. Never trust one, Draco, never turn your back on one. You are better than that kind of scum.'

But Hermione wasn't scum. She was intelligent, and beautiful - she was loyal and passionate - she was determined, ambitious, resourceful. She was wonderful.

Draco stood with shaking legs, wiping his face with the back of his hand. What good would any of it do? He knew he stood no chance. Even if he could convince others to accept his feelings for her, he knew he would never persuade the one person whose opinion meant the most to him to see him as even a friend. He had worked so hard over the years to create a mask for himself, a hard, stony façade behind which he hid and fired insults at her.

And not just any old insults either, derogatory remarks that he sometimes could not believe had just spewed from his mouth like bile. _Mudblood filth_. How many times had he hissed that at her in the past? And now he wanted her to not only forgive him, but to have a _relationship _with him.

He laughed mirthlessly. He was incredible, really, to expect that of someone he had put so much energy into radiating pure hatred for.

Now his mind was racing once more as he thought desperately of a way to extricate himself from this situation. Was there any way he could manipulate the outcome? A solution came to mind, and he almost rejected it on instinct. If he took that path, he would place himself irrevocably out of her reach and destroy and slim chance he had of persuading her otherwise. He would regain his reputation, but at what cost!

By now he was sat at the edge of the lake, a small and vulnerable looking figure sitting with crossed legs and hunched back. A far cry from the proud Draco Malfoy who stalked through the castle corridors as though he owned the place and had no worries in the world.


	7. You're Not Alone

**Here's Chapter Seven, from Hermione's POV again. This isn't the last chapter, there will be more (I'm enjoying writing this too much to stop now) so I hope you guys like it - if anyone has any criticisms etc please let me know and I'll work on it. Thanks to everyone who's RRd it though :D**

**A/N Again, they aren't mine, I just borrow them from time to time blah blah blah **

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Hermione's POV

For someone as intelligent and logical as Hermione Granger, confusion was not a familiar emotion. She had never been overcome by so many emotions at once, all clamouring to be foremost in her mind, and she put her hands to her temples in an attempt to stem the flow, and shut out the buzz of chatter as the entire class spoke at once.

She felt an arm go across her shoulders protectively, and guessed, correctly, that it was Ron. Hermione's mind was working faster than ever before.

_Those lights came to me…they came to me….what does that mean? He hates me, doesn't he, he's always hated me, but…why did he run? Does he…._like_ me? _

As she thought this she had to fight the surge of happiness that suddenly welled up in her chest. Luckily, Ron mistook this for tears and hugged her to him, whispering in her ear, 'Don't worry, Hermione, it'll be ok.'

'Weasley, this is not the time for a groping session, ten points from Gryffindor. The rest of you - _silence_!'

When, ten minutes later, the lesson finally ended Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. The stares on her back were becoming unbearable. However she quickly realised that this was a case of out of the frying pan, into the fire.

The air in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry tingled with many things aside from magic, and gossip was one of those things. Hermione had no idea how news had spread so quickly but suddenly everyone seemed to know about the Potions class.

Sitting in the Great Hall at lunch was torture. It seemed to Hermione that everyone was looking at her, eyes alternatively filled with laughter or disgust. What didn't help matters was Ron's reaction.

'I can't believe the nerve of the slimy git! What about that Pansy girl - mind you, she's a bit of a heifer, I can't blame him for looking elsewhere but _Hermione_? It's just so - '

Hermione let Ron continue in this vein, only half listening. What on earth was she going to do? Should she confront Draco about this? But then what would that achieve…she would only further embarrass both him and herself. And besides, what if she were wrong, and the desire spell had not revealed that he loved her but that he wanted to _harm _her?

Then, should she ignore the issue? Should she completely blank him or should she pretend nothing had happened and return to insults? But if she did that, what if he _did_ like her? If she did that, he would think she was uninterested, he would think she didn't return the feeling.

Oh, this was so confusing! Hermione had always known that harbouring a secret affection for a Malfoy would bring complications but she had never imagined it would be on this scale. And worse…if everyone was reacting this way now, how would they react if she revealed that she liked him back?

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For the rest of the week, Hermione looked out for Draco at every opportunity, but with no luck. It was odd - before, she had seen him everywhere she went. But that had been when it was wrong to like him, to look at him. Now that she wanted to find him, he was nowhere to be found.

She guessed, correctly, that he was laying low for a while, until the furore died down. Hogwarts students seemed to find new topics of gossip like clockwork, and by Friday the castle was buzzing again with the rumour that Eloise Midgeon was dating a Ravenclaw fifth-year and a Hufflepuff sixth year simultaneously, a rumour which Ron dismissed with a scoff as he pointed out that much of her face was obscured by acne.

It wasn't until Saturday that Hermione was next to spot Draco, and then completely by chance.

The sun dawned bright and clear, belying the unnatural cold of a September morning and as Hermione watched Harry and Ron shovel food into their mouths once more she decided she needed to be alone. For one thing, Ron had not ceased asking her about the Malfoy thing since it had begun; for another, watching them eat repulsed her a little.

'I'm going for a walk in the grounds. I'll be back in about an hour, I'll come find you.'

Then, before they could argue, she had wound her scarf, a long red affair her mother had bought her last Christmas, about her neck and walked off.

The grounds looked beautiful at this time of year. The leaves of the trees were just beginning to yellow and crisp, and would soon fall to earth. The smell of autumn was in the air and for a moment Hermione simply stood, soaking it in. She loved the autumn. Aside from being born in that season, she loved the way colours seemed suddenly so vibrant, the feel of leaves crunching beneath her feet.

She walked on, not thinking about anything in particular, and finally decided to sit by the lake. She had often retreated here in the past, to sit beneath a tree and just think quietly by herself. Automatically she headed for her favourite tree, a large willow whose leaves obscured her from the castle's view and seemed to be alive with animal and insect life.

The only problem was, someone was already sitting beneath it.

'Dr-Draco?' Hermione's voice held uncertainty and hesitation. He looked up sharply, face a mixture of surprise and embarrassment.

'Granger - I - what are you doing here?' He seemed to be fumbling for words, finally reverting to his cool façade that had served him so well over the years.

'Nothing. I just like to come here sometimes. It's quiet.' She held his gaze for a second, steely eyes boring into amber ones, and she was pleased to see him look away first. Hermione seated herself carefully beside him, glad of the fact that he wasn't moving away.

The silence hung between them.

'How long?'

'What?' Draco's voice was sharp. Hermione smiled, a tiny smile, and repeated her question, giving him a knowing look.

'How long?' Draco couldn't look at her. He pulled his knees up so that he was hugging them, and rested his chin on them, staring out at the waters of the lake. Every so often the squid would lift a tentacle lazily from the water, sending gentle ripples back to the banks. Hermione waited.

Finally -

'About a month.' he said softly, still unable to look at her. Hermione nodded gently. Suddenly things seemed to fall into place, and with her heart pounding in her chest, she made a decision.

'You're not alone.' she said, carefully placing her hand in his. 'Draco.'


	8. Better Than Imagination

**Here we go, mes petites vaches d'amours (_before anyone points it out, I know my French grammar is absolute pants but je ne care pas, d'accord?) _**

**Ve haff (_God knows why I've gone all foreign…I'm possibly still a little drunk from last night_) Chapter Eight (_quite possibly my favourite so far as it was definitely easiest to write - which the length proves, as its my longest so far!)_**

**I would like to thank everyone who's read this or reviewed it - it's nice getting bon reviews as it makes you want to write more, so merci beaucoup! Oh and I don't own these characters. I just employ them for my own slightly iffy purposes. Enjoy! Oh, and apologies for the constant brackets. Bit carried away. **

**Better Than Imagination**

Hermione's head was spinning and she quite unsure of what was happening. She was fairly sure that, when she'd woken up this morning, the day had been quite normal. Just an ordinary Saturday. She'd got up, tamed her hair (once the bane of her life but now sleek and shiny. Magic was a godsend.), dressed. She'd eaten her breakfast. Gone for a walk.

And now she was calmly sitting beneath a willow tree, fingers intertwined as though they had always been that way, with Draco Malfoy. This wasn't just out of the ordinary. This was bizarre in the extreme.

She'd been sitting there for over twenty minutes now and he'd still not moved away. On the other hand, he'd retreated into his shell and was now staring moodily across the clear expanse of water, still hugging his knees slightly.

Hermione glanced at his profile. He really was handsome; a long fringe neatly brushed his eyes, which close up didn't seem to be so hard, so cold. True, they were grey, but not in the steely way she had always seen them. They were softer somehow, and as they caught the rays of the weak September sun Hermione could see flecks of blue and green.

'Why're you looking at me like that?' His voice, so soft and yet firm, jolted her from her reverie and she flushed a little, embarrassed to be caught staring. She didn't answer, and he turned to face her sharply. She caught his gaze and held it, and for long moments they sat in silence, she staring into his eyes, he trying not to be the first to look away.

'Draco, I -'

'Don't say it.' he cut her off bluntly, turning away again. The finality in his voice was clear, but Hermione pressed on doggedly.

'I think you need to know that I-' she began, but he interrupted her once more, voice stronger, eyes staring ahead once more and regaining that steely look he was so renowned for.

'I told you not to say it, so drop it, ok? I don't want to hear it.' His walls had instantly gone back up and Hermione stared at him in confusion. Why had he suddenly switched again? She tried once more, voice placating this time, amber eyes beseeching him to listen.

'Listen to me, Draco, we need to talk about this -'

'No. We _don't_.' He jerked his hand from hers and stood up suddenly, so that his back was facing her and he was looking out across the lake as if transfixed. Unseen by Hermione he was wringing his hands slightly and his face was a pained mask of confused determination.

Hermione regarded his back with some confusion tinged with anxiety. Why had he suddenly changed, when he'd allowed her to hold his hand for almost half an hour? Why didn't he want to talk about it? Was he ashamed? Without thinking she moved forward, placing her hand soothingly on his shoulder but at her touch he flinched as though burnt and moved aside.

'Draco, I don't understand.'

'There's nothing _to_ understand, Granger.' She couldn't see him but she could tell the words had been uttered through gritted teeth, so slowly and forcefully had he spoken. Hermione Granger, however, had never been one to be put off by a challenge, and refused to yield to the knowledge denied her.

'Of course there is. I saw the results of that potion - everyone did.' Draco closed his eyes against the words, not wanting to listen to anymore. _Please, stop_ he begged her silently. _You don't understand...please just stop. _But of course Hermione heard nothing and pressed on.

'We've been sitting here together and you were fine with that, so what changed?' Her voice softened as she realised by the stiffness of his posture that he would not respond well to her talking _at_ him. 'Look, I've told you how I feel, so why won't you at least discuss it? We need to talk about this, we can't just drop it. Why don't -'

'BECAUSE IT'S WRONG!' Draco had spun suddenly to face her and Hermione could see written on his face the extent of the confusion he was feeling. His beautiful eyes were filled with hurt, and at the expression on her face he put his head in his hands and reverted back into his sitting position, unable to look at it.

Hermione felt the sting of tears and blinked them angrily away. _Wrong_? _He thinks it's wrong?_ But of course, in some ways he was right. They had invested so much in being bitter enemies for six years, of course making the crossover would be difficult. Unaccepted by many. But such was the feeling in her heart that Hermione decided she didn't care, and she told him so.

'What could be _wrong _about two people deciding they care about each other? What is _wrong _about two people finally ending some stupid feud and actually acting on their feelings?' Her voice was cracking slightly but she pressed on regardless, blinking as bitter tears threatened to overspill.

'It's because it's _me_, isn't it?' she continued softly, voice so sad Draco wanted to take her in his arms and whisper comfort in her ear, just stop the hurt that he couldn't bear to listen to anymore. 'It's because I'm a …a _Mudblood_.'

And suddenly she couldn't say anymore because the words were stuck in her throat like bile, and she couldn't look at him because the tears were blurring her vision. She turned away from him, wiping them away so that he wouldn't see her cry. She'd never given him the satisfaction in the past; she wasn't about to start now.

The silence hung between them now for long moments, neither able to look at the other. Finally unable to stand it, Hermione sat down carefully next to him.

'Please, Draco. Please, just talk to me.'

Draco took a deep breath, another, and slowly raised his head from his hands, still carefully not looking at her.

'It's not that. You're not a Mudblood, not really. It's just….'

'It's just what? Draco…?' Hermione's voice was as soft as his now.

'You don't get it…you don't understand…it's okay for you, you won't get much, but _me_…my family…the whole House…'

Hermione placed a hand carefully on his arm, allowing herself a second or two to admire the way his skin contrasted with hers, like milk and honey. 'Draco, what do you mean? You're not making sense…'

He faced her now, eyes locked on hers. 'I'd be disowned. Not just by my family either. My entire house, all my father's friends. You go against everything my family believes in, everything Slytherin stands for. I'm sorry…'

Hermione allowed this to sink in for a moment. It was true, he was right. She had known that all along. But it didn't have to be that way, did it? It didn't have to end like that. She looked long and hard at him and suddenly, she came to a decision.

When she looked back on it afterwards, she couldn't honestly say what had made her do it. It was as though someone else had stepped into her skin and taken control of her body. She was still Hermione on the outside, she still looked like Hermione and talked like Hermione. But the force in her body had taken over and she was powerless to fight it.

She kissed him. One moment she was sitting beside him and looking at his face, specifically his mouth, imagining what that mouth curved on hers would feel like. The next, she was finding out for herself.

Draco was shocked to say the least. _Who'd have thought Granger would have it in her?_ He just had time to think this before her mouth was pressed against his, and his mind was wiped of all thoughts, and he was floating. This was better than imagination. Better than fantasy, better than dreams.

In his daydreams he had only _seen _Hermione kiss him, heard her speak words of love to him. In reality he had the benefit of all five senses and he savoured every one of them. He could not have dreamed the scent of her hair, a scent he knew from somewhere but couldn't place it, nor the way it would feel against his fingers, soft and silky.

He could not have imagined the way her body would feel pressed against his as she pushed him on to his back, so that she lay on top of him. He could not have imagined the way her mouth felt on his, the force of her kiss as he met her with equal passion. He could not have dreamed how her hands would feel on him as they buried themselves in his hair, hair he spent so long carefully styling to achieve that perfect _I-made-no-effort_ look, hair he now happily allowed her to mess up in her ardour.

He could not have dreamed the sweet taste of her lips, as she licked his softly, tongue begging for entrance, entrance he quickly granted. He could not have pictured how beautiful she looked in the early morning sunlight, cheeks flushed from a mixture of the cold and happiness, eyes bright and sparkling, hair wild and wonderful.

He could not have created in his mind the moans she now let out as he deepened the kiss, hugging her to him as though this wasn't their first but one of many, as if they did this every day and always had, and it was now as natural as breathing.

When finally they broke apart it was all he could do not to grab her again, and so he contented himself with smoothing his hair a little as she spoke.

'Things don't have to end the way you said, Draco. People can't judge you if they don't know, can they?'

Draco opened his mouth to argue, force of habit from six years of caustic interactions with the girl before him. _Six wasted years_, he realised now. Then what she had actually said sunk in, and he smiled at her happily.

'C'mere.'

As their mouths found one another once more, the cynic within him couldn't help but think, _People will find out eventually. Secrets don't stay secret forever._ And he wondered just how long it be until then.

He couldn't know that, despite her enthusiasm, Hermione was thinking exactly the same thing.

**There will be more after this so if you're wondering what happens next, you'll find out as soon as I do and upload it! Schmiles all around, eh?**


	9. Hell Hath No Fury

**A/N: I don't own these characters, they are the property of JKR and that is why they rock so much, so thank you JKR for creating them for me to yoink. **

**I thought I'd try a new perspective for this as it's not something I've done before, it would be easy to write (angst always is!) and it also opened up a whole new set of doorways for my next chapters. So, read, enjoy (hopefully) and review (pretty please flutters eyelashes and flashes big cheesy grin)**

**Hell Hath No Fury**

The girl in the mirror was staring back with eyes burning with hurt and anger, and suddenly Pansy could look no more. Never a great beauty, her features were marred by the pain and bitter disappointment; her face was lost in a veil of tears that had carved ravines in her cheeks; her nose was rubbed raw, her eyes bloodshot and swollen with tears still unshed.

She didn't care any longer. After all, if she had fallen apart inside it surely made sense that her outward appearance would follow suit. What did it matter anymore anyway? It didn't. Not now. Not now she knew the awful truth. She knew it, but she didn't understand it.

Fresh tears stung already swollen eyes as the realisation washed over her. Was it her? Had it been something she'd done? If it was, she had no idea what. She'd thought everything was perfect. She'd though she was handling it well, it was progressing nicely. Oh, she knew theirs had been an unequal relationship, knew her affection far surpassed his. But, naively she now allowed, she had in her heart truly believed that he would one day show her the love and devotion he had so far denied her. That he did in fact feel the same way as she did, but had yet to show it. It wasn't so incredible - he had always been an intensely private person.

It had taken her a long time to coax his secrets from him, much persuasion to be permitted small titbits, little glimpses into his mind, and still she knew only a fraction. Still, she had swelled with pride as she realised that precious few others were privy to the information he had imparted to her.

So what had changed? How could he suddenly switch from almost trusting her, caring at least a little about her, to this cold indifference that went beyond his natural impassiveness. This not knowing was, to her, the cruellest torture he could have given her. If she did not know the problem, how could she ever fix it? And yet, in her heart of hearts, she dully realised that in a way, she had always known.

As much attention as she had lavished on him, she had never received it in equal or even comparable measure. Usually her labours earned her no more than a half-hearted compliment, a peck on the cheek, a brief one-armed hug such as he might mete his friends. Except he wouldn't have. Draco hugged no one.

Yet he had hugged her, in the past, long ago when things were good and he had, at least, been hers. He had kissed her, touched her. Now she felt him recoil at her touch and she wept inside as she saw the disdain on his face when she spoke. What had she _done_?

The worst of all had been that Potions class. She had been so excited, so happy simply to hear the buzz that heralded the arrival of the little green lights that whizzed around the room. To know that they danced about her head, in plain view of the class, telling everyone in no uncertain terms that she was _his_. And he hers. She had allowed a smile to play about her lips, suddenly warm and bright inside as if lit from within.

Then the fire burnt black and died. She had watched the lights disappear, flitting about the room like insects possessed, finally settling around the Mudblood's head. Pansy had felt her heart leap to her throat which now restricted in horror as she realised the terrible truth. Draco not only no longer desired her. He wanted someone else. And worse, much worse, he wanted a Mudblood.

Tears, a mask of tears, blurring her vision, hiding the world from her sight. Good. She didn't want to see, didn't want to feel. She had given him everything and never asked for anything more than his love. Now look at her, all alone. Her body shook with sobs as the unhappy thoughts crowded in her mind, the silence like the crack of a whip and she simply sat for a while, lost in pain.

From nowhere at all, a new thought crept unbidden into her mind, a distant memory. Suddenly, she felt a fool. She should have known. She should have guessed. After all, he had told her, hadn't he?

'_I'm sick of you and it's high time I found myself someone new. As a matter of fact, I already have. Deal with it.'_

Oh, how those words had hurt to hear, how they'd torn into her heart like the little vicious cuts of a knife between her ribs. But more, much more - the expression on his face had been almost pleased. He had _enjoyed_ her pain, derived pleasure from hurting her.

Pansy sprang into action. Sniffing loudly, she dried her eyes and wiped her face, freeing it from smudged make-up and tearmarks, before beginning to apply fresh make-up, run a brush through the tangled mess that was her hair. If Draco got that much pleasure from her pain, she would never allow him to see her hurt again. He would never see her fall apart.

Though never particularly blessed with her looks - even she had to admit that she was something of a plain Jane kind of girl - nor her academic prowess, Pansy Parkinson was by no means dim-witted. Her quick-thinking mind and mean streak had served her well in the past, and now they looked ready to serve her once more.

She knew what Draco would do now. He could never admit to liking the Mudblood bitch, it would destroy his reputation. And for Draco, coming from a family as reputable and respectable as the Malfoys, reputation was crucial. No, he would ride this out by turning the potion's result into a falsehood, a falsehood everyone would believe. They would have no reason not to - who would accept that a Malfoy would have feelings for a dirty muggle-born? But she knew the truth - she had seen it in his eyes, in his face.

She smiled happily. She would bide her time, but she knew she now had power. She knew something that Draco could never allow to become common knowledge. So he wanted to leave her, did he? He wanted to drop her and treat her like dirt. Not now. Not ever again. Pansy intended to use this to her full advantage, and get her guy back in any way that it took.

There were a lot of things she would do to get what she wanted, and blackmail was definitely on the list. But oh, she would make Draco suffer first, suffer like she had suffered. He would come back to her, she knew, but he would get what he deserved too.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

**OK so that's Chapter 9...I was struggling to think of somewhere to go with this next but then I thought, well what about Pansy, she can't be too happy! And I now have some idea what's happening next, so fingers crossed it all works out. If you liked this, and want more, please hit that little button over there that says 'Submit Review' and…well, it's pretty clear. Thank you :D**


	10. Don't Believe A Word

**Ok here's Chapter 10, hope you enjoy it, I've just written this after coming in from work (an _8am_ start! I must be mad….) so if it's a bit poo my excuse is I've done it on about three hours sleep after a four hour shift. Back to Dramione as some reviewers asked, but Pansy will be coming back. Please please please _please_ review this! I really need feedback so I know if this is heading in the right direction, so please let me know, I'd really appreciate it. Thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuu :D**

**A/N These characters are the property of JKR, and - oh you know the drill by now, I've said this a dozen times already. **

**Also, I'm really sorry if this seems like not much is happening, I seem to be writing less action scenes and more feelings-thoughts-and-emotions monologues! Not intentional, I assure you. **

Though famed primarily for her intelligence, hair and close friendship with Harry Potter (and to a lesser extent Ron Weasley), Hermione Granger did, after all, have other qualities. And Draco Malfoy was slowly finding them all out for himself.

He'd felt the sharp side of her tongue a thousand times before, but he had to admit, the soft side was much more pleasant. But more than that, her qualities went beyond the physical, and for the first time in his life Draco found himself attracted to a girl not only for her body, her face, and the feeling was new and interesting to him.

She was loyal - he knew that already, had seen it time and again as she incessantly defended Potter and Weasley against various onslaughts, ironically normally his verbal attacks. She was brave - you would have to be to stand up before the Dark Lord himself on more than one occasion and live to tell the tale.

But the attribute for which he was most grateful to her was undoubtedly her discretion, coupled with her complete understanding not only of his predicament, but of he himself. She knew exactly what was at stake should this come to be public knowledge, knew exactly what he would receive as well as what she too would, and consequently kept their relationship hidden.

Because it _was_ a relationship, not only in the literal sense of the word. About that Draco was absolutely certain. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep away from her, to maintain their masquerade of complete hatred.

'No one can know, Draco. We can't trust anyone - not with something like this.' Hermione had said seriously to him that day at the lake, and while outwardly he had only smiled and gently tucked a curl behind her ear, inside he had been positively euphoric.

The school knowing, he could handle. What would he get from his fellow students beside whispered comments and sidelong glances? There was nothing the students could throw at them that he could not counter.

But news would inevitably reach his father's ears, and the shame of it would be more than Lucius Malfoy could stand. He would punish Draco for dishonouring their family name, punish him in ways that Draco didn't trust himself to think about. Ways he certainly would never speak to Hermione about, though he thought she guessed at them - if she knew for certain what the penalty would be she would surely have ended things simply to protect him. Draco's opinion of her had increased even further as he had realised that.

'What's going on here?' he'd said out of the blue. They were still at the lake edge, he stretched out and leaning leisurely against the trunk of the willow, she resting her head on his shoulder, fingers casually entwined. 'When did all the hate turn into this?'

She'd been silent for long moments, and for a split second he worried he'd said the wrong thing. But only for a second.

'You know, for the longest time, I couldn't think why either.' she murmured softly, the vibrations from her voice tingling on his skin and making him shiver pleasantly. Who knew something so simple could feel so right, feel so good. Hermione continued. 'I think that's why I kept it hidden like I did. I kept thinking, this is wrong, we should hate each other. But I couldn't fight it. I guess it's true what they say.'

Draco inclined his head slightly so that he was looking down on her. He liked this angle; he could see the freckles that speckled her nose. 'Who's 'they'? And what do they say?' he said.

Hermione smiled. 'I don't know - people! They say lots of things.'

Draco gave her hand a playful squeeze and said in mock irritation, 'Well what in _particular_ do they say? You're hard work, y'know Granger.'

Hermione laughed softly. 'I do try. They say there's a thin line between love and hate. And I guess we just crossed it.'

Draco had twisted his head and tugged her to him for another kiss, a kiss that was slow and soft and gentle. When he finally pulled back, Hermione's eyes were shining and she was breathless and rosy-cheeked.

'I guess we did.' he smiled.

Finally facing the Hogwarts student body for the first time since the Potions debacle was a far more daunting task than Draco had thought possible given his previous cool and for a while he considered simply not doing it. After all, he'd managed for the past week, hadn't he? But when he voiced this to Hermione, she would have none of it.

'You aren't becoming a recluse, Draco, just because of me. And besides, isn't it more suspicious if you don't make a comeback than if you stay hidden? Just front it out.'

Draco sighed reluctantly. 'Yeah, I guess you're right. But aren't they going to suspect anyway, y'know, since I ran out the class and haven't been seen since?'

Hermione's expression had not altered one iota. 'Not if you tell them you've had 'flu or something. You've got pale skin already - all you have to do is make your voice a bit weaker and you're done.' she'd said somewhat briskly.

Brilliant and beautiful though she undoubtedly was, she was still bossy at heart and for once, Draco didn't mind.

So when, the following Monday, he walked into the dungeon once more, though he cringed inwardly at the faces that turned at his entrance, his outward appearance exuded the confidence and derision he was so famed for.

He took his usual seat at the back of the class, face wearing his uniform haughtily bored expression, and gave Pansy the prerequisite peck on the cheek. Normally she would beam at him upon receipt of this perfunctory show of affection; today however, something was different. She did smile, it was true, but not in the adoring, fawning way she had perfected. Draco didn't dwell on it, but it puzzled him somewhat and he stored it in the back of his mind.

When Snape swept into the dungeon he greeted the class with his usual contempt, beetle eyes scanning the faces of the students. They finally rested on Draco, and his voice was soft and menacing as death.

'So, after an entire week I see that the great Draco Malfoy has finally seen fit to return to my lessons. How noble.'

Draco's eyes narrowed irritably. 'I had 'flu, Sir.' Snape's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly but he seemed to accept Draco's excuse and swiftly moved on to his favourite sport - Potter-baiting.

Blaise Zabini leaned across the desk and said confidently, 'So, Malfoy, how long have you been into Granger then?'.

A cacophony of noise broke out across the dungeon as the class alternately laughed or shouted protest. Draco didn't dare chance a glance at Hermione, but if he had he'd have seen that she'd had the grace to blush slightly. Pansy's lips were pursed and she refused to look at him. Draco, however, was ready for this, and when he spoke his voice was full of contempt and mock indignation, his fingers firmly crossed and concealed beneath the desk.

'The only thing I'm _into_ as far as that Mudblood filth is concerned is the idea that one day they'll all be cleaned off the face of the earth like the scum they are. ' Even as he said the words he wished he could take them back, knowing that despite their falsehood they would hurt Hermione a little to hear. Hell, they hurt him and he was only saying them.

Blaise raised a sceptical eyebrow. 'Uh huh. And the potion…?'

Draco laughed, a harsh laugh he would have sworn he didn't have in him, so dry was his throat. 'Oh please, you didn't think that was….?' He twisted his features into a look of disgust. '_Christ_, no. That was me wishing Granger would hurry up and drop dead.'

Though the dungeon rang with the rapturous laughter of the Slytherins, who clearly had swallowed every word he had said, Draco had seen Hermione's back stiffen slightly and prayed that she realised he didn't mean a word of it. He'd known this part would be the hardest. He'd just not realised how difficult it would be, and wished that he'd been able to do it in the privacy of the Slytherin Common Room to spare Hermione the pain of listening to his cruel words.

He cared nothing for the murderous looks the Gryffindors were shooting him - that was nothing new. He had done the very thing he had initially rejected - by regaining his reputation he had been forced to hurt Hermione with vicious lies. And he had never felt worse than at this moment. He longed for the lesson to end, so that he could speak to her freely, tell her the truth, _show _her the truth.

But the odd thing was that what was troubling him most was not so much his guilt at what he had just done. Nor was it at Hermione's hurt at listening to him say things no one should ever have to hear. No, it was at the expression on Pansy's face.

It still bore the same vacant look that was Pansy Parkinson all over, and though she was smiling it didn't look natural on her. It was almost smug, proud. And in her eyes, Draco would swear he saw the hint of malice and suddenly he wished he had been nicer to her the past few weeks.

He shrugged to himself. Right now, all he cared about was finding Hermione and explaining to her, checking she was okay. There was no sense in worrying about a future that may never arrive. What would come would come, and he would face it when it did.

He couldn't know at that moment just how soon it would come. But Pansy, still smiling to herself, basked in the knowledge that for once, she was in power. For the first time in their relationship, she held all the cards.

She found she rather enjoyed the feeling.


	11. Last Chance

**Chapter 11 - I would write more but I'm exhausted (too much overtime at work and not enough sleep is not a fun combination). However, I have planned the rest of the story and know exactly what is going to happen, so writing the remaining chapters should be a doddle. Thank you to my reviewers so far, more please! Also I think I may have made Draco a bit too wimpy in this chapter…I may have to butch him up a bit in the next few. And Pansy will definitely be back, possibly next chapter, haven't decided yet. Anyway, read, enjoy (I really hope) and REVIEW!**

Hermione looked about the cavernous room and breathed happily. She was in her sanctuary. To most of the students this was just a dusty old room filled with even dustier volumes by long-dead and even longer-boring old wizards, misted with cobwebs here and there and patrolled by a shrill, middle-aged witch. But to Hermione, this was a place of bliss. What better feeling could there be than to settle down in one of the old chairs, wood worn smooth and shiny from years of being sat on, open a huge old book and have some time to do some quality work, free from distraction, free from noise, free from immaturity? If there was one, Hermione had yet to find it.

Sometimes, though, she didn't come only to study. The library's very nature automatically deterred the vast majority of the students from ever entering there except under duress, and consequently it was a mostly quiet and private place. Perfect for private conversations, where it was imperative that one whisper (a necessity in the library anyway - Madam Pince had ears like a fox where students' vocal chords were concerned) and that no one overhear your words.

Conversations like the one she was about to have.

She saw him first. She'd known he would come here - it was where they had been meeting lately when the lake was proving to be too public. She saw his hair first, slightly mussed and flowing slightly as he strode confidently between the bookshelves, exuding the same confident, arrogant air he always had and looking for her while pretending not to. She smiled to herself - he was always so careful. The library was completely deserted save for her, yet still he acted as though he'd rather be anywhere else but here and with anyone else but her. Luckily, she knew it was all a lie.

She couldn't deny that that Potions lesson had hurt a little, to hear those words spoken so viciously against her. But then, it had been her idea, after all. It was the only way. And Draco had more than made up for it afterwards. She smiled as the memory returned, swam before her eyes like the ghost of a glorious dream too soon forgotten. But she would not forget this.

He greeted her with a peck on the cheek, as always, before (finally certain no one was around) brushing his lips gently across hers, making her entire body shiver in anticipation. It had been two months now since that memorable day by the lake and still she found herself just looking at him and finding something new every time. His features, strong and defined, looked as though a skilled artist had spent hours carefully chiselling them. His pale skin had an almost ethereal glow about it which belied his strong jaw line and clear voice. He had a way of sweeping her with his eyes, a bright, clear grey-blue like steel, that was thorough without being intrusive, pleasant without being indecent.

Today, however, his eyes held worry and automatically the mothering instinct in Hermione took control.

'Draco? What's wrong?' He didn't say a word, just sat next to her looking at his hands, twisting them around. Hermione knew from experience with Draco that he would not speak until he was ready, would not open up should she try to force the issue from him, and so she simply lay down her quill and placed her hand gently on his leg - his hands were far too fidgety today for her to take one.

Finally, after long moments when the room echoed with the sound of the wind howling outside and rain smattering the window panes like bullets, he spoke.

'I found this on my bed earlier.'

Hermione barely had time to puzzle on this when he had opened his fist and there crumpled in his hand saw a sheet of paper. She took it from him, and he watched her, anguished , as the expression on her face changed. Across it were scrawled just two words, but to the boy and girl sat huddled over it they conveyed more than an entire essay ever could.

_**LAST CHANCE**_

_Oh Jesus_.

Hermione felt her heart leap to her throat as realisation set in, and all the placating, logical reassurances she had been planning to whisper in his ear died on her lips. What else could this possibly mean? Draco had no secrets he could have been shaken by - the worst was already believed of him by the vast majority as far as the Dark Arts were concerned. No other secret could be bad enough. Except her. Somebody knew.

She turned to Draco and was startled to see tears shining in his eyes, tears he hurriedly blinked away. She had never seen him this weak. No one had. She was willing to bet a hell of a lot on that. He wouldn't meet her gaze as he hoarsely voiced her thoughts. 'Somebody knows about us.'

Though her fingers trailed the back of his neck comfortingly, moving in slow circles as she placed her arm across his broad shoulders, Hermione's mind was racing faster than ever before and she sporadically put words to them as was her habit.

'Got to be a Slytherin….Potions?….no, that's…but what be either….how though?….but then….who?'

Draco regarded her with confusion. Like Harry and Ron before him, Hermione's thought processes baffled him. Unlike Harry and Ron however, he held his silence, and finally Hermione too seemed to lose track of where she was headed, and took his hand gently.

'It'll be OK, Draco. Please don't get upset over it, it's just some idiot being immature. No one _knows_ anything for sure, do they?' Her whispered words of comfort were balm to his ears but he was still forced to bite his lip before tears spilled over.

'I just -' he began, but his breath caught in his throat and he stopped, breathing heavily. Then - 'I'm scared. I don't want to lose you.'

Hermione's gaze softened as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. 'You aren't going to lose me over one stupid note, Draco. I promise you.' When he didn't say anything, just bowed his head, she felt ice descend into her stomach which constricted uncomfortably as she realised what his silence said. 'This - this isn't the first note, is it?'

He didn't answer. Couldn't. Just reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled out a fistful of notes, threw them roughly onto the table where they scattered like autumn leaves in the wind. Hermione caught scanty glances, quick snapshots of their contents, and felt her heart tighten as though an icy band of steel had been bound about it and was slowly constricting. There were at least fifteen notes there. Every single one was written in the same, spidery handwriting, venom splayed across the page like inky spiderprints of pure hatred -

**_I know - you can't hide it - filth - scum - disgusting - tell people - end it - own good - stop while you can - shame - bitch - whore - stinking - filth - people will talk - punishment - disgrace - outcast - rejected - dirty little secret - _**

They had obviously culminated in this final note, and the intention of the writer could not have been clearer. _End it with Hermione, or I will end it for you. Publicly_.

'Why didn't you tell me?' she asked softly.

He shook his head as if struggling to understand it himself, and said chokingly, 'I didn't know how. I thought if I told you, you'd get too scared…..for me…. for you, for us…. I thought you'd leave me for sure….and now you're going to anyway, because if you don't this person will…..'

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and folded him into a tight hug, holding him close to her as his voice trailed off and his body shook with dry sobs. 'Shhh', she said gently. 'Shh, it's okay. I won't leave you, I promise you. Nothing has changed, okay? I loved you before, I love you now and I'll love you in the future.' She felt him stiffen in her arms slightly and wondered if she had spoken too soon. They were only two months in - was it too soon for the _L _word?

He hesitated. A second. Then breathed, 'I love you too.

And then they were clinging to one another like survivors of a shipwreck, he holding her as though she were the sole life jacket available to his drowning grasp, his breath coming in sharp choking gasps as the thought of being without her and people knowing overwhelmed him.

He didn't know where all this was coming from. Draco had never been one to show raw emotion, or even acknowledge it. Ordinary things like anger and happiness, maybe, but never anything that would make him seem vulnerable. And he never cried. Couldn't remember the last time he had. Yet here he was, arms wrapped around the body of a girl he had professed to despise not six months before, and sobbing without restraint, his face buried in her shoulder, she with her eyes tightly closed.

Had they looked up, even for a split second, they would have seen a pair of liquid brown eyes staring at them through a gap in the books, dancing with malicious glee. A smile curving the onlooker's mouth as the fruits of their labour came to seed before them. The two of them had proven, without any shadow of a doubt, that theirs was more than a relationship borne of speculation and rumour. This was real. _They_ were real. Together.

The trap had been set. And Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger had walked straight into it.

All that was left was for Stage Two to commence. And shivering with anticipation, the watcher swept from the Library, leaving a trail of barely-suppressed giggles in her wake.


	12. Because You're Mine

**OK people, here is Chapter 12, really hope you like it, because I had fun writing it and if I don't get some good feedback I won't bother writing the next bit. Starts off Pansy but ends with a bit of Draco POV - and I think I've made up for his slight wimp-ness in chapter 11, he's much more macho here. Enjoy!**

Pansy giggled. She'd done that a lot lately. She couldn't help it. Everything was going so perfectly.

_Well, maybe not **perfectly**, _she thoughtto herself_. I still have stuff to do…_

But there was time, plenty of time. She could wait.

Draco hadn't yet finished things with her. Taken her quietly to one side - which in itself told her he was up to something, it wasn't in his nature to consider her feelings by doing it privately - and told her gently that he thought they should talk. Privately. It was important, apparently. But not yet. He'd asked her to meet him the next day, at lunchtime, when they would have the entire hour to speak properly.

Pansy knew what he would say when they had the conversation. She had wanted to laugh out loud as he said it. _Oh, Draco_. _You really are clueless, aren't you? _ 'I love you,' she'd wanted to tell him, to shout out loud. 'This will never be over because I love you.' But of course she couldn't - it would have completely blown her cover.

Even his wording, his tone of voice, the gentle look in his eyes spelled it out for her. Oh, she couldn't deny that, in him, a little compassion and kindness was certainly welcome, but she knew that this was a result of his new infatuation with Granger. Nothing more than an '_I'm going to be a better person' _jig he was on. It didn't matter though. Nothing mattered, except for Pansy and Draco and their relationship.

She giggled once more, secure in the knowledge that she was alone. Everyone else had gone down to breakfast twenty minutes ago, leaving Pansy in the dormitory 'nursing a headache'. She couldn't have looked at him anyway, not without bursting into peals of laughter. Which would have looked highly suspicious.

She couldn't believe how easy it had been so far. Draco had shown Granger the notes, as she'd known he would - they'd even kissed and hugged. How much more proof could Pansy possibly need? But what she found most incredible was the fact that neither the Mudblood nor her ex had a) worked out who the notes must be from, or b) recognised the handwriting, which she hadn't even bothered to disguise. _But then_, she reasoned sadly, _it's not as though Draco ever really paid much attention to me to begin with…_

No. She shook her head angrily, banishing the doubting thoughts. The bad feelings. How could she think that way? She loved Draco. And he loved her, he just didn't know it yet. But he would. Oh, how he would.

And he at least seemed to be taking the notes seriously. Seriously enough to become worried over them, enough to shed tears. Oh, that had felt good, to see him cry as she had, see him brought low as he had brought her low. But Granger, always the logical one, always the know-it-all, had to think _reasonably_ about it, had to read into it. She truly thought it was an idle threat.

Pansy really did laugh out loud at this. Well, if that's what she thought, she had a _rude_ awakening coming to her. But first and foremost came Draco.

Sitting in lessons that day was a kind of torture for Pansy, but a pleasant one. Sure, it was no fun having to pretend to listen to the things her teachers were saying, any more than it was to sit and watch the clock, willing lunchtime to arrive. But, she had to admit, there were some perks to time apparently slowing down, as she studied his face surreptitiously. Even haggard and worried, he was exquisite to her. To Pansy, his face held a kind of divine beauty, but it was by far his body to which she was most attracted. He worked out regularly, and his toned upper arms and long lean muscles bore evidence of that. Draco was someone who cared about his appearance, and it showed.

'Miss Parkinson?'

Pansy jumped, stunned from her fantasies (in which an already semi-clad Draco stood before her, slowly peeling off his remaining clothes and proclaiming as he did so, 'Pansy, you're so beautiful. I love you.') as she realised the voice was addressed to her. 'Wh- what?'

Professor McGonagall sighed theatrically. 'Miss Parkinson, you have not been listening to a word I've said. Ten points from Slytherin.'

_Dried up old bat_, Pansy thought. _Can't you **tell,** I'm in love? _Probably not. Who would love someone who looked like _that_? A sudden pang in her heart reminded Pansy that, if someone like Granger could be loved, and not just by any old person, then people like that could indeed be loved. It was a sobering thought. But, unlike those people, Pansy held the reins to her destiny, and she was about to change it all, make it all right again. Just as soon as the damn hands on the clock started hurrying up.

Lunchtime crawled around, and Pansy bolted her food, prompting snickers from one or two of the other Slytherins.

'Slow down, Pan, anyone would think you've never been fed!' exclaimed Millicent Bulstrode.

'No chance of that happening with an arse _that _size!' Blaise Zabini put in to raucous laughter. Pansy cast him a withering look that could have soured milk, and silenced him. He returned, shame-faced, to his meal and the noise at the table seemed to die down. They were used to Pansy Parkinson, pug-faced but doting on Malfoy, accepting of their jokes and comments if it meant she was with Draco, oblivious to their caustic stares and sneering smiles, who never stood up for herself. This new Pansy was obviously no doormat.

And, if truth be told, a little scary.

Pansy was already waiting in the grounds when Draco appeared, crunching across the gravelled path. He had asked her to meet him at the Herbology greenhouses, which was far enough away that no one would probably go there and especially not at lunch time. Though he was bundled up in a heavy black coat and thick woollen scarf against the biting November wind, Pansy still found herself as irresistibly drawn to him as always and had to hold herself back to stop her from throwing her arms about his neck, as she had always done in the past.

She bit her lip. He hadn't dumped her yet, but in the past two months she had withdrawn physical contact somewhat, just to see if he would care. It had broken her to realise he didn't in the slightest.

He stopped in front of her, and as she stared into his deep-grey eyes she lost herself in hope, in imagination, in wonder. She shook herself, grudgingly, free as she realised he was speaking.

'….long time, and I just don't feel the same way anymore. I hope we can be friends?' His large eyes were placating, pleading, and Pansy felt her jaw stiffen.

'What?' she said slowly.

Draco looked uncertain now. A rarity for him., who was always so confident, so cool. So self-assured. 'I said, I hope we can be friends.'

Pansy allowed his words to sink in. 'You're…you're _dumping_ me?' she said coldly. The bastard. She'd thought he might do it but her ever-present optimism and general naiveté, she realised now, had somehow clouded her mind, shielded the truth from her.

Draco twisted his mouth awkwardly. He had a habit of doing that. Some bit their nails, others wrung their hands. Draco Malfoy chewed the insides of his lips when he was feeling vulnerable or worried. Like he was now, waiting for her response.

'You can't dump me,' she stated simply. As if that was all there was to the matter.

Draco's eyes narrowed. 'I bloody well can, Pan.'

Pansy only smiled. Shook her head. 'No, Drakey, you can't dump me. You're not dumping me. I don't accept it.'

Draco was beginning to get annoyed. Even with his newfound amiability he still had little patience where Pansy was concerned. 'It doesn't _matter_ whether you accept it or not, Pan. It's not working for me, it's not the same anymore.'

Pansy didn't say anything, but the look on her face was making Draco feel unexpectedly guilty.

'Look,' he started. 'It's not you, it's me, OK?'

Pansy rolled her eyes. He must be desperate to be wheeling out all that crap. She pouted, irritating him purposely. He hated her baby act and she knew it.

'Well if it isn't me then why am I the one who's getting dumped?'

'OK, then, why don't _you_ dump _me, _then_!'_ Draco snapped. Then added, 'Pan' more gently, a clearly worried afterthought. Pansy paused, drawing it out for maximum effect.

'No, Drakey, I could never do that to you. We can _work _on your problems!'

At these words, Draco finally broke his cool. 'There is no _us_!' he snapped, his hands in his hair in exasperation. 'Don't you get it, Pan? It's over! Just accept it!'

Pansy's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'No, Draco.'

'What?'

'No. I said no, Draco.'

'But - I don't - _why not?_' Draco was completely flummoxed. This was not a situation he had planned for, clearly. And certainly not Pansy standing up for herself. Or actually telling him _no_ for once.

'Because it isn't over, Drakey. It never will be. You'll see.' Pansy's voice was cool but genial, as if she were merely telling him what she was cooking for his dinner.

'Why won't you just accept it, Pan? It _is_ over. It has been for a long time now. Haven't you noticed?'

Pansy ignored his question, determined to make him see what she was saying. 'Drakey…' she said softly, in a maddeningly patient sing-song voice, as if she were speaking to a child. 'Drakey, Drakey, Drakey….'

By now she had stepped close to him, so close he could feel her breath on his skin, and it chilled him where Hermione's would have warmed him from within. Her hand seemed to have found the back of his neck and she moved her face close to his. Instinctively he flinched, afraid she would try to kiss him, but Pansy made no motion toward his lips, and directed her own to his ear.

'Don't you see, Draco darling?' she breathed, ignoring the way he stiffened at her words.

'See what?' he spat through gritted teeth. _Get. The hell. Away from me. _

'You don't have a choice in the matter, Drakey.' He could hear the smile in her voice and felt his skin crawl.

'What the hell? Of course I have a choice!' Pansy took his face in her hand, holding it by the chin so that her thumb rested on one soft, smooth cheek and her remaining fingers on the other. Slowly, so slowly, she pulled back and turned his head so that it faced hers, so that they were nose-to-nose. When she spoke, her voice was as soft as death. And twice as repugnant, as far as Draco was concerned.

'No, Draco. You don't. Because you're mine.'

And then she had crushed her mouth on his, before he could protest, and he couldn't pull away because her other hand had attached itself to the back of his head and was forcing it forward, deepening the kiss, as much as he tried to fight it, and as he felt her tongue trying to force entry he felt something snap inside of him, and instinctively he bit down, finding some deep satisfaction as he heard her cry out in pain.

Taking advantage of her momentary lapse in concentration he shoved her from him with all his strength, and she tripped and lost her balance, lying sprawled in the snow, lips bruised from the kiss and bloodied from his teeth.

'For God's sake, Pan!' he spat. 'What the hell is wrong with you!'

She didn't say a word, just glared up at him with cold, cold fury in her eyes, face contorted with bitter rage.

'And you wonder why I'm ending it! You wonder why I don't want to try again! It is _over_, Pan. Deal with it. I'm not yours anymore. And I never was.'

He stalked past her, heading towards the castle, and Pansy cried out as he stalked past.

'Oh yes, you are Draco! You are if you want your dirty little secret to stay that way!'

She watched his retreating back stop stock-still, frozen with fear as her words sunk in. She smiled through her bruised lips as she said, 'Or should I say, your _muddy_ little secret?'

As Draco walked towards her, face contorted with a mixture of rage, confusion and above all, absolute terror, she felt the smile spread.

'Alright Pan, you've got exactly three minutes to tell me what the hell you're going on about.'

Pansy stared him out, unnerving him. And then, slowly, so slowly, she reached into her pocket…..

**And that's all you're getting until Chapter 13! I hope you liked this one - for once it's no all thoughts-and-feelings, and this one was extremely easy to write (which explains why it's so bloody long! Over 2000 words, by far my longest to date.). Please please please review if you want Chapter 13! Just hit that little button…go on…you know you want to…..:D**


	13. Can You Keep A Secret?

**Not quite how I was planning to write Chapter 13 but I just started typing and this is what came out. Hope you like it all the same, though this one isn't great. Please RR with any suggestions, gratefully received! **

And sorry about the cliffhanger from last chapter...well, not really, as it'll hopefully keep you guys reading. But I am alittle sorry. Ish.

_19th September_

_I can't believe what happened today. I **kissed** Draco Malfoy. Me. The Mudblood. And he kissed me **back**! That was one of those dreams I'd sit and think about and then say, 'No. Never. Not me.' It's so weird knowing it's true. We've made a date - Hogsmeade next Saturday, but we have to keep it under wraps. I don't know how we'll do it, but it's worth it. _

_6th October_

_Met up with Draco again today. I don't know how we've managed to get away with this for so long, without someone noticing, someone seeing. I feel kind of guilty, keeping this a secret from Harry and Ron. But I don't think I could stand the way they'd look at me, the way they'd react. And I'm not the only one - Draco has told me all the terrible things his father would do to him if he knew, and I could never let that happen to him. I'd rather have the guilt for secrecy than the guilt for that…._

_14th October_

_Was going to Hogsmeade with the others today but Draco convinced me to stay - we were the only two who did. Harry and Ron looked a bit doubtful when I told them I wasn't going, but as soon as I said 'library' Harry rolled his eyes and Ron just muttered, 'Typical' under his breath. Sometimes I wish they'd see me as more as the boring, sensible bookworm. Then again, maybe it's a good thing that they don't seem too invested in my personal life. I don't need that kind of complication right now. They seemed to buy what I said, anyway. It was nice, being able to be **together **without looking around every corner first….._

_25th October_

_Draco's been acting a little weird lately…when he hugs me it feels as though he's holding something back. I don't know what it could be, but I'm starting to worry. I worry too much. _

_2nd November_

_I found out why Draco has been acting so strangely. Some idiot has been sending him notes, really foul ones, telling him they know about us and calling me all sorts of names. He's seriously worried about it. I did my best to comfort him but I don't think he totally believed me when I told him he wouldn't lose me over it. I wasn't kidding though - I won't be bullied into ending something that's making me happier than I've been in a long time. I just wish I knew who it **was**….I didn't recognize the handwriting though. _

_5th November_

_More notes….Draco tries to pretend he's okay but I see it in his eyes. I feel - _

'Ron!'

Ron jumped and flung the little journal from him as though it were red-hot. He tried to fix a _what-did-I-do?_ look on his face, but knew immediately it would not be well received. He had never seen Hermione look so angry in all his life. She'd only gone to her dormitory for some fresh ink, and come back to find this. Admittedly, when he'd seen her bag he'd known he shouldn't look through it, but he'd only been looking for a new quill. And then he'd seen the little black book and been intrigued….

'_What are you doing with that?'_ she hissed, hair flying about in fury, voice dangerously low. 'Were you….you were reading my -'. A note of panic had now crept into her voice. She marched across the (mercifully empty) room from her place in the doorway, snatched up the journal where it lay, still open at the last page Ron had read. She closed her eyes in horror as she saw her own tidy writing detailing her last date with Draco. She spun angrily to face Ron.

'How _dare _you read this - how _dare _you read my personal - '

'You're a fine one to talk, Hermione!' Ron interjected, ears flaming red as his anger rose to match hers. 'Acting all high and mighty when _you're _the one who's been sneaking around!'

Hermione rose to the bait, as always. '_That _is _my _business, and not _yours_!' she said through gritted teeth. 'It's got nothing to do with you who I see or what I do!'

'But _Malfoy_!' Ron spat. 'Of all people, _Malfoy_!' He shook his head as if in disbelief, a look of pure disgust marring his features.

Hermione felt the first prickles of embarrassment burning her cheeks, but she refused to back down. She couldn't give in now, to give in would be to admit that she and Draco were doing something wrong, something bad. And they weren't, she knew they weren't.

'_This_ is exactly why I didn't tell you and Harry.' she said forcefully. 'I _knew_ you'd react like this, just because you're too narrow-minded to see past prejudice - '

'There's nothing to see _past_, Hermione!' Ron cut in. ' I can't believe after everything he's said, everything he's _done_ - '

'That was his _father_, Ron!' Hermione cried. 'He acted that way because that's how his father expects him to act, the same way you're reacting like this just because he's a Slytherin!'

'Oh, so it's all alright then, is it?' Ron shouted. 'If Daddy says to do it, then it's all ok. Never mind how many times he's called you things, or been a complete bastard for no reason, or made you cry, it's all ok!'

'Well if I can forgive _you _then I can certainly forgive Draco!'

Ron's eyes narrowed. 'What the hell are you talking about, 'forgive me'?'

'You judge him for that Ron, and yet you are exactly the same. How many times have we argued and called each other horrible things, or I've cried or something, and we still made up afterwards! Draco is no different from y-'

'That's different, that's in the heat of the moment!' Ron cried defensively. 'There are some things you just don't forgive people for!'

'Just because you're too stubborn and proud to forgive people doesn't mean everyone is!' Hermione spat back, eyes dangerously filled with tears threatening to overspill at any given moment. Both of them were red in the face.

'And what about Harry, eh?' Ron was saying now. 'This is like _treason_!'

'Oh for God's sake, Ron, grow up! You said this about Viktor at the Yule Ball as well, d'you remember? You just don't like not being the only boy I talk to apart from Harry, face it.'

Ron didn't say a word for long moments, and after Hermione had got over the initial utter shock at seeing him without a comeback for once, guilt set in. _Have I gone too far?_ she thought worriedly. _Bringing up his feelings?_

Ron continued to stare her in the eye, blue fixed on amber. _How can his eyes be the same as Draco's and yet so different?_ Hermione wondered. _How can I react so differently?_

She didn't have time to ponder the answer. The sound of laughter trickled into the room, and Hermione recognized the voices a split second before they came into view.

'I'm sorry you had to find out this way, Ron. But please, _please_, keep this to yourself, don't even tell Harry, please promise you'll keep quiet.' she gabbled anxiously. Ron stared mutely ahead. '_Please, _Ron. Please do this for me.' Her voice was quiet and calm but her eyes were full of pleading, and against his will he found himself nodding.

'_Thank you!'_ Hermione cried, relieved, and flung her arms around his neck.

'Two things, Hermione - one, that's my brother you're touching, so can you not in front of me, and two, that's my brother you're touching - what are you _thinking_?' Ginny's voice held laughter as she and a grinning Harry strolled into the Common Room, hand-in-hand. Neither of them guessed at the argument they had inadvertently walked in on, nor picked up on the tension in the room.

'Fancy a game of Exploding Snap, mate?' Harry said amiably to Ron, who seemed to mentally shake himself before pulling out his cards. Ginny settled into an armchair, and was soon immersed in the game, along with Harry.

But Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, unseen by the others. His held disbelief, disgust, shock, and said _You owe me for this. _Hers held fear, worry, anxiety, and said _Please, please don't say anything._

_If he says anything, I'm dead._ She thought worriedly, chewing her lip. _If he hints…what if he tells someone? What if he blurts it out, what if he forgets, or gets angry? What then? What if - _

Hermione stood abruptly, muttering 'I need to use the Library' to the others and hurrying from the Room. She couldn't sit here any longer. The tension was killing her. She needed to find Draco, and fast. He had to know this.

As she collected her belongings, making absolutely sure to place her journal in her bag, she could feel Ron's eyes burning into her back. Eyes full of accusation. Eyes full of anger and wounded pride. Eyes full of hurt. If she couldn't stand seeing all that emotion in him, how would he stand feeling it?

Hermione wasn't staying around to find out.

_**Chapter 14 is coming soon, sorry this one isn't up to much, I'm having quite a bad bout of writers block atm along with a whole load of personal stuff happening, hopefully it will all sort itself out soon! **_


	14. Saving Draco

_**Here is Chapter 14 - yayness, the writer's block appears to have lifted! Hope you guys like it, if so PLEASE review! Chapter 15 may take a while to be put up as I'm writing another fic right now, and I also have to decide what to do with it. Maybe if I get enough reviews I'll be persuaded to speed up...lol. Anyway, here ya go. **_

_The little boy with the flaxen hair is laughing as he runs, fingers outstretched, through the tall grasses. _

_He has no cares. The sun is shining. The sky is blue. His mother has just pressed a coin into his little hand, told him to run to the shop, buy some sweeties. He has been a good boy. _

_He doesn't see the bruises on his mother's face, nor the tearstains that mark it. He doesn't hear the tremors in her voice as her eyes lock on his father's own cold ones. He doesn't realise he is being sent away, saved from the sight to come. _

_He picks up speed as he runs lightly over the grass, yellowed by a merciless July sun, grey eyes lit up with laughter, his little body lithe and graceful. _

_What worries could there be in his little heart? _

_He has a coin in his hand and he is smiling. _

_His peals of laughter merge into a scream of utter terror as the ground opens beneath him, swallows him whole. _

_The light above him dwindles to a tiny speck as he plummets, finally landing with a splash in something cold and very, very wet. _

_He has fallen through the covering to an abandoned well, the rotting wood disintegrated beneath the pressure of even his small mass. He cries out in shock and terror as the icy waters envelop his little body. _

_No one hears him. _

_He shouts for help, screaming at the top of his little lungs. _

_No one answers him. _

_He scrabbles at the walls with frantic fingers, desperately seeking some kind of indention to hook his hands in, but he feels only smooth, cold stone. _

_No one sees. _

_His tears begin to dry, his sobs subsiding as he comes to accept it. _

_No one is coming. _

_His world has opened up beneath his feet, and no one is going to save him…._

Draco blinked in utter shock. His throat was dry with fear and alarm, eyes wide, but the rest of his face remained utterly impassive. He had reverted to his old standby - hide emotion, hide reactions, hide everything -suppressed by Hermione's expressive nature, coaxed out once more by Pansy's very presence.

But it was taking him every ounce of self-control, every shred of cool, every sinew in him straining to keep him from revealing to her the cacophony of emotion currently raging through his body. To clench his fists so that he didn't slam one into her stupid face, wipe the supercilious, triumphant smile clean off it, once and for all….

He would try to brazen this one out with all the bravado and charm he possessed. But, cradled in her podgy hands, the evidence was damning.

Photographs. At least a dozen of them. All displayed in glorious, moving Technicolor.

In one, a smiling Draco sat leaning against a tree, arm casually slung around Hermione's shoulders, her chest slowly rising and falling as she breathed steadily, he blinking lazily, both made lethargic with apparent bliss.

Another showed him envelop her in a big, crushing bear hug, his beaming face hidden by masses of thick brown curls as he held her close.

Draco's head bent to hers in a third as his mouth captured her own, hands fixing themselves in her hair….

_Has she been stalking me?_ Draco thought anxiously. _How long has she known? Has she told anyone?_

He forced himself to look at her. Smile calmly. _Not_ slap her. Concentrate on what she was now saying.

'So you see, Draco, this isn't over. What you and I have is _special_, you can't just throw it away for some filthy little Mudblood - '

'Hermione isn't a Mudblood.' Draco said slowly through clenched teeth.

Pansy let out a dull, mirthless laugh. '_Mudblood_. Call a spade a spade, Drakey. You always used to. _I_ remember the things you called her, even if _you_ don't. Filth. Scum. _Dirty_.' Draco closed his eyes in shame against the words as the memories came flooding back. _Shut up. _But Pansy wasn't finished.

'You know, at first, I didn't believe it. What the hell could some buck-toothed, bushy-haired Mudblood bitch have that I don't?' She looked at him questioningly, scanning his face as if she expected to find the answers tattooed there. Draco had them, but he wasn't about to divulge. Not yet anyway.

'Nice pictures, aren't they Drakey?' Pansy went on conversationally. She was on her feet by now and slowly circling Draco, who stood stock still, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. 'It'd be a shame if someone were to…I don't know, find them lying around somewhere, huh?

Cold trickles of fear seeped into his skin but still Draco's face gave nothing away. _She won't do it, she wouldn't. She's bluffing. _

'I guess.' he said with huge effort. Pansy raised a sceptical eyebrow.

'You _guess_?' she said slowly. She appeared to change tack. 'How will you cope, Drakey? How will you stand the scandal of it all? The _shame_ of everyone knowing your dirty little secret. What will people think when they know you're with a filthy piece of sh-'

'Shut up!' The force behind Draco's words stunned Pansy into silence, which in turn shocked Draco. He had never been able to shut her up before and the effect was a novel experience to him. 'Just _shut up_, Pan, leave Hermione alone.'

_Uh oh. Bad move. _

Pansy's eyes narrowed to tiny slits, but still a fury emanated from them as she locked eyes on him. 'You'd better be nice to me, Drakey, if you don't want people knowing. You were always so cruel to me, and all I ever did was love you. But that's about to change, isn't it? You won't be cruel anymore.'

Draco stared her out, fixing her with the coldest glare he could muster. 'What do you _want_, Pan?'

'Isn't it _obvious_, Drakey?' Pansy whispered, eyes alight with malicious glee, wide, slack mouth curved into a smile. 'You.'

And suddenly Draco's world seemed to fall away from him as he realised the implications of what she was saying. _End it with Hermione?_ The thought was unbearable. And yet his father's face swam before his eyes, and he shut them tightly against the image. _No_. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't.

There was something about the baleful way Pansy was staring at him that told Draco that his ending things with Hermione were not the only stipulation of her silence. _Oh Jesus….._The realisation hit him. _She wants **me**_. _She wants me back…_The thought repulsed him.

He realised Pansy was waiting for his answer. He longed, more than anything, to scream, 'NO!' at the top of his lungs. But if he did that, the consequences would be devastating. For both him and Hermione. No, he would play this carefully.

'OK, Pan. OK.' he said softly. Her eyes lit up.

'OK?' she said cautiously, voice risen a whole octave with happiness.

Hating himself as he did so, Draco nodded slowly, and forced himself to suffer the consequent bear hug she wrapped him in.

_The little boy has stopped crying now. He knows it is no use. _

_Dark clouds have rolled in, streaking the sky an inky blue-black, masking the few stars that speckle it. He has been here for hours. _

_Still no one has come. _

_It doesn't matter. _

_The little boy knows no one will come for him. No one will save him. _

_His legs are getting tired now. He has been treading water for a long time. He knows he cannot do it forever. _

_It is up to him now. _

_The well is narrow. If he outstretches his arms he can press his hands flat against opposite sides. _

_He is going to escape. _

_He presses his hands against the walls. Lifts a leg and presses it against the wall. _

_It slips on the smooth stone and he falls back into the water. He comes up spluttering and coughing. _

_But he does not stop. He tries again. And again. And again. And slowly, so slowly, he starts to move up the sides of the well. _

'I won't be sloppy seconds, Drakey. You understand that, don't you?' Pansy's voice, already irritating, was grating on him now and still she was oblivious to his rigidity.

'Of - of course.'

'Then you'll dump her?'

Draco paused. A fraction of a second too long.

'Draco! You'll dump her, _won't you_?'

'Y-yes, Pan. I'll….I'll dump her.' _But I'll tell her everything when I do, and she'll think of a way to sort this out. Both of us will. _

If Pansy saw the hard, determined look in his eyes, if she felt his hatred for her steaming from him in thick waves, if she felt the way he stood so stiffly, refusing to return her hugs, she ignored it. She was blinded by her happiness that her plan had succeeded.

What she didn't realise was just how determined Draco Malfoy could be when he needed to be.

_The little boy is almost at the top now. His legs and arms feel as though they are on fire. This is taking all of his strength. _

_He has slipped a few times already. Once he fell straight back into the pool of water at the bottom. But it didn't stop him. He started climbing once more. _

_He grits his teeth. He can do this. _

_It has taken him a long time. He wonders why no one has tried to find him. _

_He is on the last stretch. He can see the edge of the well. He won't look down. The height dizzies him. It makes him feel weaker. _

_His hand grabs at the edge of the well. He hauls himself up, screaming out as the effort tears at his already pained limbs, and with a strength born of pure determination he collapses onto the grass beside the well. _

_He has saved himself. _

Draco turned from Pansy in one smooth motion.

'Where are you going, Drakey?' Pansy's voice echoed on the breeze.

'To find Hermione.' he called back simply. Hermione would know what to do. Draco would just have to explain it to her. Everything would be okay. He would be okay.

He had saved himself once. He would do it again.

But this time, he would have help.


	15. I'll Kill Him

The dusk outside had slowly trickled away as night blanketed the sky, peppered with stars. Candles had sprung to life, littered sporadically around the Common Room, and by their flickering light, Harry and Ginny could see the tiredness in Ron's eyes. They had been playing for hours now, the space around them littered with empty bottles of Firewhisky and Butterbeer, and he seemed determined not to give in, despite the black smudges that marred his freckled cheeks, or the increasing difficulty he was having in focusing on the cards he held in his shaking hands.

And yet his mind was clearly not on the game, despite his slurred declarations of 'Snap!' and his deafening whoops of victory. He had snatched up the bottles of alcohol Ginny had smuggled in for them (sometimes, Harry thought, having brothers like Fred and George really paid off) and gulped them down like water to a man lost in the desert. Harry and Ginny had had no more than a mouthful apiece.

She stretched now, leisurely, feline in the firelight, and said, 'I'm off to bed. Night, boys.' Stepping over the bottles, she kissed Harry and shuffled off the girl's dormitories.

Harry watched her retreating footsteps and moved across the floor so that he was squatting next to his friend, who was now clumsily stoking the fire. 'Right, now we're alone, d'you want to tell me what's wrong?'

'N-nothing.' Ron slurred. He threw the poker aside and seized his half-empty bottle of Firewhisky once more. Harry raised an eyebrow sceptically.

'Well, '**_nothing_**' has given you a face like thunder all night. Is it another row with Hermione?' he said knowledgeably. Ron stiffened, and the frown on his face deepened.

'I c-can't believe her…she's so…she's so….' Ron hiccupped and hugged his bottle to him. Harry gently tried to prise it from his long fingers, but Ron held fast. 'No!'

'Okay…' Harry held his hands up placatingly, and crouched in front of Ron so that he faced him. 'Come on, what's wrong?'

But Ron wasn't listening. His mind was reeling through the haze of drunkenness.

How could she do it? With **_Malfoy_** of all people….He shook his head dazedly and immediately regretted it. The action made him wince.

Was he memory so bad? Did she really not recall that just three years previously his father had been terrorizing Muggles at the Quidditch World Cup, levitating them? He'd even threatened her then, for goodness' sake. What had he said?

'**_Hadn't you better be hurrying along now? You wouldn't want her spotted, would you?…..D'you want to be showing off your knickers in mid-air? Because if you do, hang around….they're moving this way….if you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are….keep that big bushy head down, Granger….'_**

His eyes widened in shock as realisation washed over him. Those weren't threats…those were warnings. Because he'd been right - the Death Eaters **_had_** been moving that way. Why else would he tell her to run, to hide?

Suddenly, Ron felt a fool. How could he be so oblivious to it, when clearly Malfoy had harboured a secret fondness for Hermione for years. But then, how long had **_she _**liked **_him_**?

Confusion gave way to anger. She spurned **_Ron_**, in favour of that piece of shit? He was going to take her, take **_his_** Hermione and -

Ron stopped. 'His' Hermione? Since when had she been 'his'?

'Never,' he croaked hoarsely. Harry was bemused.

'Never what?'

'Never…' Ron pressed his palms flat against his eyes and rocked on his heels. 'Never…' He whispered. 'Never, never, **_NEVER_!**' His voice rose to a shout, and Harry recoiled at the rawness of emotion carried by it, the anger. The pain. Clearly his friend was hurting, but why, he had no idea.

And now Malfoy was taking her, making her **_his_**, kissing her, stroking her, touching her, finding all her secrets….

Had she truly forgotten all those times he'd hurt her? Made her cry, made her quake with sheer anger?

And look who he was involved with! His entire family were Death Eaters, right in Voldemort's inner circle. He was the epitome of everything Hermione was meant to be against. **_Meant_** to be. How could she be so hypocritical? More than that, how could she be so **_blind_**?

Because he **_would_** hurt her. He would make her hurt like she had never hurt before, and she had no idea she truly believed he had changed. she would let him do it. Let him hurt her.

Well, she might, but Ron would not. Suddenly, he was shaking with determination, fury.

'No - he's not going to hurt her anymore!'

'What - who? Hurt who?' Harry was utterly confused. Ron seemed to have lost the plot.

'I won't let him! I won't let him hurt her, not anymore!'

Ron rose shakily to his feet, face contorted with barely suppressed fury. His hands shook and he clenched them clumsily into fists. 'He won't hurt her. And if he tries, I'll kill him,' he snarled.

He strode towards the door, face flame red. Harry tried to pull him back. Ron was in no state to go anywhere. 'Look, just stop, tell me what's going on!'

'Get the hell off me!' Ron spat, and Harry's face hardened, blind to the venom in Ron's eyes, and as Ron tried to shrug him off he wrestled him to the floor, sitting on this chest and pinioning his arms to his sides. Ron squirmed and flailed, a fish on a hook, but one with escape in his sights, and Harry had to dodge his lumbering punches.

'What the hell are you doing?' Harry cried. With a strength borne of pure fury, Ron shoved Harry from him and scrambled to his feet.

'You can't stop me, Harry! I won't let him hurt her - I won't let him make her cry ever again! I'm going to stop him.'

And then he was gone, leaving Harry alone in the Common Room, rubbing the red mark on his forearm where Ron had struck him, and wondering what the hell was going on.

**Ok, that's chapter 15, I wrote this on holiday, hope you guys like it! I have planned the remainder of the story and know everything but how I'm going to end it, as I haven't decided whether to make it sad or happy yet. Review PLEASE with any ideas/thoughts/tips/random comments. There's a cookie in it for ya!**


	16. Lost

**Meanwhile…..**

Hermione Granger was renowned for her intelligence and her cool logic. Less famed was her more philosophical side, one she ordinarily kept hidden. After all, it wasn't as though she had really had the freedom to indulge it, not with all the Dark goings-on of late. But it was still there, though squashed down, though repressed, it endured, as much a part of her as her heart and soul. Sometimes, it was more hindrance than help.

Right now, she wasn't sure what it was. She stood out in the grounds now, alone, her arms wrapped around her shivering torso in an attempt to keep her warm. Really she should have brought a coat, since it was now late November and extremely cold, but since she had said she was going to the Library her falsehood might have been shown for what it was had she bundled up first. To be honest, though, she found she didn't much mind. She'd just had to get away. She couldn't stand the thought of Ron having found out like that.

She stood for a while, not thinking anything much at all, simply taking in her surroundings. Smelling the gold odour of crisp yellowing leaves as they crumpled to earth; allowing the frost of the wind, blue-grey and light as smoke, to whistle about her, lifting her hair like a wild bird in flight; hearing the shrill caw of crows as they knelled the tower, sleek black rain of bad memories and ominous messages. She had done this a lot lately. She found it easier to think out here, her mind clearer. Everything seemed simpler, away from the castle and the complications that surrounded it.

Except now, she wasn't so sure her method was working. She began walking, arms still wrapped about her.

_It would help_, she thought carefully, _if I actually knew why all this was happening. Or at least _how_ it happened. _

That much was true. Hermione had no idea what had changed. She was pretty sure that at the end of last term she had still hated him. She had still been able to look at that arrogant face and want to obliterate it, to wipe that smug, superior look clean off it once and for all. So why was she suddenly in such a mess?

She thought all this now, but deep inside her, a little voice had awoken. It began to speak, quietly, as quiet as death, so that she had to strain her ears to hear its words. But it was no use. It was a little like trying to listen to a badly tuned radio - the odd word jumped out at her, only to be lost in a haze of static.

She sighed irritably. Taking out her wand she walked the last hundred yards that would take her to the lake, and crouched beside it, leaning over so that she could see her reflection in the frost-blanketed water. Slowly she leaned forward, further and further so that the tip of her nose was a hair's breadth from breaking the surface, and carefully she tapped her wand on the surface, silently saying the incantation she had looked up last week for just such a purpose as this.

_Aequora profundus , aequora videlicet , ostendo mihi verum , meus pectus pectoris habitum carus _

As she finished the incantation she moved the final millimetre so that her nose broke the surface. Ripples immediately erupted from the source of the disturbance, but unlike ordinary ripples they did not spread to the rest of the lake. The circumference of their journey outwards was no more than two metres, and when the waters were clear, Hermione could see her reflection clearly. But she was different somehow.

Lake Hermione was the same as Land Hermione, except she seemed almost ethereal. She was paler, thinner - her skin held a ghostly pallor which Hermione attributed to the reflected glow of the icy lake waters. She never smiled, but her eyes held a kind of sad glee, as if her happiness was always ringed with tragedy, and she seemed almost subdued.

Hermione was taken aback. She had known what the approximate effects of the spell would be, but still had found herself quite unprepared for this. And then Lake Hermione spoke.

_You called me._

When Hermione responded she could hear her own voice, as clear and as fresh as spring water, but her mouth did not move. It was as though she was speaking in her head, so that she alone could both see Lake Hermione and hear their conversation.

**I had to.**

_I have the answers you seek. _

**I hope so.**

Lake Hermione _was_ Hermione, she realised. But a graver and more world-weary one, burdened by too many truths and too much heartache, and it was a sore on her heart to hear this teenage ancient who was supposed to be herself.

_Speak, Hermione. _

**I'm just - I'm so confused. About everything. **

_Everything?_

Lake Hermione had posed it as a question but her sceptical tone and the hard look in her eyes told Hermione something different.

**Well ok, yes, about Draco. **

_Why is that?_

**I don't understand why I'm suddenly so fixated on him. I should hate him! I used to hate him! And now….**

She broke off, biting her lip.

_And now…._

**And now I love him, and I don't know what happened to change it. And it's messing everything up, and I can't even defend my actions because I can't even make sense of them myself! Why do I suddenly care so much? Why do I love him now when he's done nothing but cause me pain in the past?**

_You know, Hermione. _

**That's just it, I don't! I don't know anything anymore….**

_What is so terrible about loving a fellow-creature?_

**He's linked with the Dark Arts - he's arrogant - he's sarcastic and insulting and he's so…so….**

Here, Hermione faltered. Lake Hermione smiled up at her, a silent echo of truth.

_Is he? Is he, really?_

**I thought he was. But he isn't like that, not really, not when you get close to him…he's sensitive, he's had it hard with his father…there's a lot of pressure on him…is that why?**

_But how did you find all of this?_

**I don't know! I just…I just found out, I don't know how!**

_Cast your mind back. Think. You hold the answers. _

So Hermione thought. The wind collected around her, a cloak of ice, but she did not feel the goose-pimples pepper her skin. The landscape swallowed the sun and blue-black dusk blanketed the sky, but she did not notice the frost that gathered in her hair. The trees whispered to one another in the wind, sharing secrets, leaning in to watch the slim girl hunched over the waters, but she did not see their eager weather-stained faces.

She was lost. She was seeing, as if for the first time, the day things had changed. The day her world had begun it's steady flip 180.

The day she first had seen Draco cry.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Draco was at a loss. He had been everywhere. He had checked the Library, the Entrance Hall, the Great Hall, the staff room, every teacher's office. He had even resorted to hovering around the general area he knew housed the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room until a hail of dirty looks forced him to move on.

And Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

_Typical_, he thought. His plan was rapidly fraying - if he couldn't find her he had no idea what he would do. In fact, if truth be told, he had no idea what he expected her to do when he found her and explained the situation.

His mind reeled. Who'd have guessed Pan would turn out to be such a basket case? It was oddly flattering to have someone love you so deeply, in a terrifying kind of way. And it was currently working against him.

Suddenly, inspiration struck him. Of course! The grounds….where else would she go? She'd told him before that she went there to be alone, to think.

He set off at a sprint. He had to find her, before…

He wasn't entirely sure before _what_. But he didn't relish the idea of finding it out either.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

__

He didn't see me. I was out of view, behind a shrub, picking up my books where my bag had split. He was hunched over, sitting on his own under a tree. He kept muttering over and over, the same four words…'What do I do….What do I do….'…..

And then….

And then….and then he sort of made a choking noise in his throat like he couldn't breathe…and I looked up and he was shaking, his whole body…just….shaking with tears…

And what did you do?

Nothing. He saw me…and he stood up and wiped his eyes and told me to leave him alone…but I knew…I knew he wasn't how he seemed to everyone. He seemed…human. And everything was different…

OOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The wind slashed at his face as he left the castle, unprotected by its usual thick scarf, and he squinted against its brutal attack. He picked up speed, knowing he had to find her, tell her everything, make everything right. In the dim of the gathering night it was difficult to see much, but finally his tired eyes discerned a dark figure, hunched over the edge of the lake.

It had to be her.

He changed direction and headed towards her. Except it looked like someone else had got there first….

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

And I am leaving it there! I haven't written in ages so this is longer than usual, and also I thought I'd try to explore why Hermione might have changed her mind about Draco, since one reviewer said they didn't believe she would…writing this may have changed the way I'm going to end this, as I'd like it to be 20 chapters ideally, so I think I may bring the climactic bit forward….not too sure. Again, ideas/comments/randomings VERY gratefully received, and the more I get the quicker I'll write….

_I know this isn't a real spell (I also know someone will now be rolling their eyes and saying, well DUH, but I couldn't think of an appropriate spell, so this saying means (hopefully, my Latin is VERY rusty), _

'_Waters deep, waters clear, show me the truth my heart holds dear'_

_Anyone whose Latin is better than mine, I'd be grateful if you'd let me know of any mistakes so I can correct it. _


	17. Fight And Flight

He set off at a sprint, barely thinking. He had to reach her; he had to warn her. The wind slashed at his face, tears springing to his eyes as it bit at them viciously, his breath coming out in short sharp choking gasps as the cold snatched the air from him and he ran faster.

He could still see her, in the distance - it was some way off but he would have known that curly head anywhere - hunched on the floor, the figure standing over her looking menacing to his eye.

Was he too late? He pushed the thought away, back into the darker recesses of his mind, feeling the shape of the anger, hot and jagged and pulsing, allowing it to fuel him.

_I will destroy you_. The thought, when it came, was hardly unexpected given his current mood but the ferocity behind his mental vow shocked him somewhat.

And so he ran on, each thump-thump of his trainers upon the frozen ground, each shuddering breath of ice-cold air, each eternal second bringing him closer to her, and to the end.

Had he looked behind him, even for a split second, he would have seen the figure gaining speed as it slipped silently from a side alley and gathered speed…

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'I warned you, don't say you weren't warned!'

The girl on the floor was looking up at her antagonist with confusion and anger in her eyes, and though she tried to keep her voice strong it wavered slightly from nerves and alarm.

'I have no idea what you're talking - '

'Stop lying!' It was a scream, animal in its intensity, and Hermione shrank back mentally.

'Why him? Out of the entire school, why _him_?' Cold hard eyes locked on Hermione's and she struggled against the shock. This was the last thing she had expected. Oh, she was no fool, she had always known the truth would come to light eventually, but she had never counted on this happening - at least, not quite _this_ way. Consequently she had never planned for it, never idly rehearsed the scenario in her head. If she was honest, she had never truly believed it _would_ happen. Except that now it was and she had no idea how to handle it.

She had no time to dwell on it, however. The figure standing before her was speaking again, and in the fading light Hermione saw with wide eyes that there was a wand pointed directly at her throat.

Her own wand was still stored neatly in her pocket. There was no way she could get it, surreptitiously or otherwise.

She would have to brave this out. And meantime pray for help to arrive.

OOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Draco's eyes narrowed in focus before widening in shock as he discerned that the head bobbing up and down before him as it's owner ran across the snow was in fact one that belonged to a Weasley. And not just any Weasley, either. In fact, it was the worst possible Weasley he could have imagined in this situation.

And worse, it looked very much as though he were heading in the same direction as he, Draco, was, clearly seeking out Hermione himself.

_Shit_! He swore beneath his breath, the word twisting itself into wisps of smoke that danced in the air before him before the wind erased them. There was no question about it. He had to reach her first. He put on fresh speed and was soon gaining on Weasley, intending to overtake him.

He ran faster, faster still; for the first time in his life he was grateful for the gruelling physical regime his father had put him under as a small boy, all the running, all the fencing, and gradually, little by little, the gap between the two boys closed as Weasley grew more tired.

As Draco overtook the taller boy he chanced a look over his shoulder, to be greeted by a face, red and panting and contorted with fury. He barely had time to register the look of pure loathing he was confronted with before that grim mouth had emitted a spell, and suddenly Draco was falling to ground, the snow rushing up to greet him and his face connected with it with a thud.

He flipped over instantly on to his back. Ron Weasley now stood over him, his wand pointed straight between Draco's steely eyes.

'You _bastard_, ' Weasley spat, pure venom evident in his every shaking word. 'You think you can do that to her - you think you can _hurt_ her like that - you - '

'What are you talking about?' Draco cried with feigned fear. He was, however, completely unafraid - this, after all, was the boy who had ended up belching slugs after trying to best him. And Draco was hardly inexperienced at duelling. 'I - I don't know what you-'

'Don't lie to me, Malfoy, I know exactly what you're doing!' Weasley's voice was a low snarl. Draco widened his eyes and allowed his voice to rise an octave or two, wobbling slightly.

'OK, I'll do whatever you want, just let me up! Please!' _I'm good_, he thought smugly. He was almost convincing himself with his wouldn't-say-boo-to-a-goose act, and all the while he was groping with his free hand for his wand, ready…

'You're not getting away that easy, Malfoy…you think you can just use her? I won't let you hurt her anymore - '

'What're you gonna do?' Draco's voice, though apparently anxious, was taking all his strength not to slip into sarcasm. He didn't give Weasley a chance to respond, however. Moving faster than sight, he kicked out at Weasley suddenly, his leg sending the taller boy crumpling to the ground where he lay sprawled momentarily. This was all Draco needed, and he quickly scrambled to his feet, wand out.

Weasley turned onto his back awkwardly, gangly limbs flailing as he tried to stand, and Draco lazily turned his wand on him, flicking it casually and sending the ginger teen sprawling once more. In a breath he was sat on top of the boy, a hand clasped around his rival's throat, his voice light and casual as he spoke. Weasley's eyes widened in fear and rage but he stopped struggling for a moment.

'Now you listen, Weasel, and listen good…I hate you, and everything you stand for.' His face was close to Weasley's, and he found himself rather enjoying the experience. He was actually surprised the boy had seen fit to take him on alone - normally he was flanked by Potter. 'And you hate me. I don't know how you know about me and Hermione, and to be perfectly honest I don't want to know, but I would never hurt _her_. _Never_. You I couldn't care less about. But Hermione, never.'

Ron, looking up into the wolf eyes above his, felt a new kind of feeling settle in his bowels. He didn't know how it could be possible that he could be looking up at Draco Malfoy, whose hand was now wrapped about his throat, and feeling anything other than pure loathing. But there was something about the way Malfoy was speaking, fast and firm, that suggested to Ron that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth in his words.

He didn't have time to fathom this, however. Just at that moment, a piercing shriek rent the air in two, and the pressure was relieved from his chest as Draco sprang up, looking out at the lake.

'Oh my god…Hermione!' he breathed. He turned to Ron. 'I thought that was _you_ with her!'

From the frightened look on Ron's face, it was evident that he had thought the same of Malfoy. But the scream came again, high-pitched and frightened, and it was clear that the figure, whoever it was, did not wish Hermione well.

Barely pausing to exchange worried looks the two boys forgot their fight and set off at a sprint towards the lake, the fresh snow fall blurring their vision as the wind picked up speed around them and the cries of the fallen girl were becoming lost in the howl.

The distance between the boys and the lake fell away and, with increasing horror, the identity of the person standing over Hermione, a meaty arm about her throat, wand pointed directly to her temple, became clear first to one teen, then to the other.

It was Pansy.

**I promise promise promise that the next chapter will be up within the week - cross my heart! Sorry to leave it there but I like the cliffies…three chapters to go now…. :D Hope you liked this one though - if so/not, you know what to do. So get doin' it! And maybe then chapter 18 (Jesus, this story is being dragged out!) will be up by about Tuesday. Shameless, ain't I?**


	18. Together Again

**A/N In case you guys hadn't noticed, I'm choosing to completely ignore the whole Voldie-is-alive-and-about-to-destroy-the-world vibe since it interferes with my story. That in mind, I have mentioned the Slug Club here (HBP readers will get this) BUT (and it's a pretty big BUT) this is purely because it helps with my story, and the whole Draco-is-a-Death-Eater etc etc is NOT part of this story…basically I'm trying to say that as far as the Sweet Madness universe is concerned, Voldie is still a bodiless old dude stroking his metaphorical beard and plotting revenge on those pesky kids and thus NOT a threat right now**

Draco remembered the first time the thought had ever even entered his mind. The first time he had actually entertained it, allowed it to linger long enough for him to consider it. The first time he had realised he liked Hermione Granger.

No, not liked. Fancied. Was in love with, even. And it wasn't anything like he'd expected.

If anything, it was a scenario which, had he been able to choose it, he was certain would most definitely _not_ involve him stumbling upon a slightly inebriated Hermione wrapped around some beefed up Quidditch player.

It had been at Slughorn's party. He'd gatecrashed it, obviously - clearly the man did not appreciate social class or wealth enough to warrant an invite - and spent the evening moodily nursing a Firewhisky, cleverly disguised as pumpkin juice thanks to a relatively simple spell he'd found the week before. And then he'd seen her.

It wasn't, he reasoned later as he furiously pummelled his pillow and tried to dispel the thoughts that had sprung unbidden to his mind, as if she'd even made a particular effort. OK, so she'd changed out of her normal school robes and into something slinkier (though still quite proper, it being Granger and all), and OK, she'd done something with her hair. But she was still the same old over-achieving, shrill-voiced, buck-toothed mud blood that evening that he'd seen that morning, on a thousand mornings before.

And yet, there was something different about her. She'd seemed lighter, happier. Carefree. When he'd later stumbled upon her and that oaf McLaggan in a seemingly deserted classroom he'd felt something stir within his chest, something he'd long ceased to feel as far as Pan was concerned. She hadn't even seen him, but it was as though someone had set off a bomb in the pit of his stomach, and the contents of the explosion were a hash of feelings, some as familiar as his own palm, others as foreign as the dark side of the moon.

There was embarrassment, to begin with. As a Malfoy he was not supposed to feel that. And yet somehow he did, as though he had walked in on something private and sacred, his presence dirtying the process. And then there was something else. He had wanted to slam his fist in to McLaggan's arrogant face, but then that was nothing, everybody who'd met him wanted to do that. But more than that - Draco had wanted to _be_ McLaggan just then. He wanted to be the one kissing her, gently smoothing back her hair, feeling her eyes on him.

Even now, he didn't understand it. He had spent many long nights prowling the darkness of his dormitory, trying to fathom what had changed. He supposed the very fact that, just then, he could not have her had automatically made her seem a very attractive prospect. After all, he was a Malfoy. There was nothing he could not have. Except, of course, for the minor detail of her hatred for him. And yet somehow that had seemed to spur him on. Every time she reminded him that he could not have her, he wanted her all the more. For every snide comment, for every dirty look, for every hissed insult they exchanged he had felt the place in his heart set aside for her expand, until it began to invade his mind and finally it had been all he could think about, all he saw, all he heard and all he smelt. He lived, breathed, slept Hermione, the want for her consuming him, and he knew that the basis for his new amour was founded upon a fairy's wing, delicate and frail, prone to crumbling. He knew she could not stand him. And still he could not stop.

So as he now stood, his heart in his mouth, his mind had frozen over like the waters of the lake, and all he could see, hear and feel once more was the girl on her knees before him, eyes wide with terror.

'Get away from her.' His voice, when he spoke, was a low menacing growl. Pansy threw her head back and laughed harshly.

'Why, Drakey, you don't seriously think you can tell me what to do anymore, do you?' she said in a cool dry voice, eyes locked on his as the air in his throat constricted and she tightened her grip around Hermione's slim throat. Her hair was wild, flying dark about her throat; her eyes were livid and red-rimmed, feral in their intensity.; her mouth was a grim line of determination. She looked deranged.

Realising the delicacy of the situation Draco decided to proceed cautiously, his only aim to get away Hermione away from her captor. He hadn't, however, reckoned on Ron Weasley, who with the tact of a sledgehammer decided that the best thing in this situation would be to start making demands and threats.

'If you don't let her go, Parkinson…,' he spat, holding out his own wand. Draco saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and his arm shot out automatically to still the redheaded boy beside him. His own wolf eyes locked on his rival's blue ones, placating and warning, but unbelievably the teenager had not taken a single hint and began to plunge recklessly on.

'Let her go, you stupid bitch. Right now!' He drew his wand level with Pansy's throat now, though the two boys still kept their distance warily, afraid to draw closer lest they endanger Hermione, who now had begun to whimper softly.

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Harry, completely baffled by Ron's latest mood swing, had finally resolved to get to the root of it all once and for all. Swinging his Invisibility Cloak over himself he had slipped from Gryffindor Tower and tailed Ron, catching up with him easily using the Map. He had followed him through the castle and across the grounds, keeping a safe enough distance that the crunch of his hastened footsteps along the thick blanket of snow would go unheard, and while he watched the fight with Malfoy, by the time he had gotten close enough to warrant jumping in and sticking up for Ron, that terrible scream had split the seam of the air in two. The two boys ahead of him had shot off in the direction of the lake and Harry, though the howl of the wind was too strong to make out their worried words, had with the keen eagle-sight of the youngest house Seeker to grace the pitch in a century had discerned the figures at the edge of the lake, and followed Ron and Malfoy's example in heading in that direction.

And now he stood beside Ron, watching the drama unfold, his head spinning as he tried to comprehend what was going on. Ron was screaming at Pansy Parkinson to release Hermione, who Harry now saw with a sick jolt of dread was completely at the bigger girl's mercy. Malfoy, of all people, _Malfoy_, was firing useless words at Parkinson in an effort to placate her, but they slid from her as easily as butter along the heated edge of a knife, and she smiled maddeningly.

Something within Harry finally snapped, and shrugging his Cloak from his lean frame he pulled his wand from his robes in one swift smooth motion and pointed it at Parkinson, shouting as he did so, 'Let her go, Parkinson!'

The shock on the faces of the other four teenagers was almost comical in its totality and Harry felt a mad urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire scenario. Pansy recovered first, her eyes narrowing dangerously, and she called out to him mockingly, her every movement dripping with derision.

'Ahh, does lickle Potter the wonder boy want me to leave his fwend alone?' she cooed, pressing the tip of her wand deeper into Hermione's ashen flesh as the girl winced. The boys made to run to her, but Pansy shrieked, 'Come one step closer and I swear I'll hurt her more. Back off. NOW!' They shrank back, afraid to help Hermione lest they hurt her more, afraid to leave her. Harry turned on Malfoy now, who stood uncertainly, his own wand out, his face stony.

'For God's sake Malfoy, she's your girlfriend, make her let Hermione go!'

A wild shriek split the air once more and Pansy began, laughing maniacally, to swing Hermione from her, so that when she caught her she held the crown of her curls twisted in her fist, pulling her head back and placing the wand at her throat.

'He doesn't _know_!' She crowed, face alive with malicious glee. 'He doesn't _know!_ ' She tightened her grip and hardened her words. 'Tell him!' She fired the words at Malfoy, cold slits of eyes fixed hard on his, and he swallowed.

'Tell me what?' Now Harry spun to face Malfoy. 'Tell me _what_?' He shouted, levelling his wand at the taller boy's impassive face.

Malfoy did not say a word, but his eyes flicked to Hermione and back to Harry's. In that split second, Harry saw a subtle change in the boy standing before him. In less time than it took to inhale and exhale, something had seemed to settle on his rival's face, a sort of softness he would have thought incredible of one so proud of their disdainful smile. There was a kind of contented opulence in those pale grey eyes, and suddenly the truth settled in Harry's chest like a stone to the bottom of the pool into which it is thrown. The outward ripples presented themselves in the form of stunned incredulity, a stark contrast to Ron's angered shouts and fevered exclamations.

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Hermione's head was throbbing. She couldn't see how she had failed to hear Pansy's footsteps as she snaked her way towards her, but by the time she had it had been too late. She was bitterly cold now, scratched and aching from Pansy's various exertions, and was now wondering with a kind of hysteria why the hell none of the three boys standing before her seemed to be doing anything to free her. She felt the scream bubbling inside her chest and tried to swallow it down as Pansy's fingers dug viciously tight, stretching taut the fibres of her hair, so that her head arched back, exposing reams of slender white flesh as a muscle pulsed in her throat.

Her wide eyes sought out Draco's, fixing on them beseechingly and finding nothing there but a cold steel wall. Ron's face brought even less comfort, so utterly helpless did he look, standing superfluously in the swirling snow and watching the unfolding events with the uncertain sort of concerned detachment of the bystander who witnesses a mugging and dithers about whether or not to involve themselves. Harry of course was staring directly at her with cold disbelief in his eyes, mouth agape as realisation marred his features.

The hairs along the back of Hermione's neck rose as Pansy's words chilled through her.

'You lied to me, Drakey. I believed you, you know, when you told me you loved me, when you kissed me and hugged me. I always believed you. Until today.' She spoke feverishly, her words a smoky haze of determination twisting in the frosty air, hanging in hard knots of truth before wisping away., to fragile to be prolonged. 'Know why? Well, do you?' she screamed.

Draco shook his head. 'No,' he breathed.

'Because when we kissed, I could feel it. I knew. Because when you told me you'd dump her I could see the lie in your eyes. I'm not stupid, Draco. You lied to me.'

Hermione's head swam and her heart seared at Pansy's words. _You kissed her?_ her eyes asked him silently. _You told her you'd dump me?_ And when Draco looked down, and couldn't meet her gaze, she knew.

'But it's okay, Drakey, everything is going to be okay, you know, because I'm going to sort things out.' Pansy's voice had softened now, and when she pushed her face close to Hermione's, Hermione could see the whites of her eyes, the pupils dilated to a minuscule dot of black, her face split in a grotesque parody of a grin. She looked possessed. When she spoke her voice was a fetid hiss, hanging in slippery ropes over Hermione's fearful face. 'I'm going to get rid of the problem once and for all, Drakey, and then we can be together again. You'll see.'

And then she twisted Hermione's head back once more and began to cry out.

And then, all hell broke loose….

**Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand there is Chapter 18. SORRY it took so long but I've had a lot to deal with lately, which included writing my two new stories Wolf Eyes and Shadow, plus a lot of partying, and besides this chapter is over 2000 words long, nearly twice as long as usual, so I will hopefully be forgiven. Only two chapters left! Hope you guys liked this one though, you know the drill by now if you don't. **


	19. I Did It For You, Draco

White light swam above Hermione's head, searing her eyes. She tried to sit up, before, wincing, she settled back into position. She made to turn her head to look around her, but it was heavy, so heavy...Confusion spilled into her mind and she blinked lethargically, trying to make sense of the situation. The last she had known, she had been kneeling at the edge of the lake, a mad girl's arm crushing against her windpipe, staring helplessly at the three boys who were supposed to protect her. And then everything had gone black.

She looked around, amber eyes darting agitatedly about the room. The columns of cracked cream tiles that stretched out above her, coupled with the general smell of ammonia, allowed her to quickly deduce her surroundings. She was in the Hospital Wing.

Sitting up slowly, she tried to ignore the sudden pain that stabbed at her forehead, determination battering itself bloody against her skull. How had she ended up here? Where was Parkinson now? And, moreover, where the hell were Draco, Ron and Harry? The first two questions she was to find out later. The answer to the third came with the sudden slam of the door, the discordant skidding of trainers across the scuffed old floor, and the disappearance of breath from Hermione's lungs as Ron and Harry attached themselves about her waist and squeezed hard.

'O-owww,' she managed to choke out, and they extricated their long limbs from around her, Ron grinning inanely, Harry smiling just as deeply though managing not to look quite as dopey as his ginger-haired friend.

'Sorry,' Ron managed at last. 'We just - '

'We're glad you're OK,' Harry broke in.

Hermione rubbed her aching forehead with her left hand, noticing as it was halfway to her face that it bore heavy bandages. 'What the…' she murmured, coral mouth shaping the words slowly and carefully as she turned to the boys and asked, 'How long have I been in here?'

'A day,' Ron said. 'You were out cold the whole time, you hit your head pretty hard when you fell.' When Harry began nodding feverishly in affirmation she realised she had been staring and looked away hurriedly.

A question formed in her mind, trickling down into her mouth where she held it like a precious jewel, the words sitting bitter and hard upon her unwilling tongue. But she could not bring herself to voice it, and so she tucked it high inside her cheek, where it sat like a boiled sweet, growing slowly in size rather than shrinking, and she knew that soon it would grow large enough that she would have to either speak it or choke upon it. But not yet.

So staring hard at the floor she gave voice to her other question, nearly as pressing. 'What happened?'

Ron and Harry looked uncertainly at one another, each seemingly as unwilling as the other to be the one who spoke. In the silent battle of wills it was Harry's resolve which broke first, and his voice was soft, honeyed. Hermione decided that it held no proof of his true thoughts, that he was thinking the same thing that she was, and that Ron was. It did not betray his silent question - where was Draco? - and so she would not either. He cleared his throat.

'Erm…we thought you'd ask that. So we kind of prepared something for it. You need to see it, really, not hear about it.' She looked up. Ron was holding out a large wooden basin, intricately decorated and brimming with a swirling mass of silver. 'Just look into the Pensieve.'

Hermione looked blankly at it. 'Whose is it?' she said quietly, suspicion distorting her voice.

Ron coughed nervously.

'It was Dumbledore's,' Harry finally said. 'But the memory you'll see isn't his.'

Brow knitted in confusion tinged with intrigue, Hermione reached for the basin. It felt surprisingly heavy, given that it was filled with what appeared to be of no more substance than blue-grey smoke, and she knew that it was weighted with the immensity of the truths it held, sagging with recollection.

She leant over it carefully, settling it in the crook of her lap as she sat up, hair clouding her face, and Ron and Harry shrank back, sweeping silent and unnoticed from the room.

The room lurched forward and Hermione closed her eyes against the pale nausea that suddenly flooded her stomach and brain. When she opened them again, it was to a sea of white. The wind screamed past and the snow slammed itself viciously towards her but none landed upon her face - she was entirely within and without the memory.

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It is one thing to live through a terrifying experience, to feel the dizzying fear and sickly panic tearing at your stomach as, unsupported, you free-fall into the unknown, counting down the seconds until you slam into the ground.

It is another thing entirely to relive it exactly as it happened, and from an outsider's perspective, looking at the stranger who wears your face perform exactly as you did.

So understandably, Hermione was not entirely sure how to conduct herself in this situation.

It wasn't as though she hadn't seen herself from another perspective before - the affair with the Time Turner had seen to that - but all the same, this was…_bizarre_.

From her position, stood just beside Harry, to the left of Ron and in front of Draco, she could see herself kneeling in the snow, skin mottled pink and white with fear and cold, like jam swirled into day-old porridge. She chanced a glance at Draco and was surprised to see how grim he looked; if she was pale it was nothing to the grey pallor of his skin as he regarded the scene, mouth pinched into a tight solemn line.

And worse, from this position she could see the feral gleam behind Pansy's wild eyes and felt a cold feeling sick dread drop into her stomach like a dead weight. As she watched the bigger girl's meaty arm slink about her neck, tightening her grip, she absent-mindedly brought a hand to her throat, rubbing it gently. It tingled a little.

Pansy was speaking once more, and second time round the words did not just send a chill down her spine - it enveloped her, numbing her senses as she awaited, trembling with nervous agitation, the realisation of what came next, what happened after she'd blacked out with fear.

'I'm going to get rid of the problem once and for all, Drakey, and then we can be together again. You'll see.'

And then Pansy wrenched back her captive's head with a strangled cry, thrown carelessly to the wind and lost like tears in the rain as Draco propelled himself forward as if from nowhere, face contorted with fury. He hurled himself atop the girl, sending her sprawling in the snow and muck, and breaking her grip so that as Hermione fell Harry and Ron were able to grab her and pull her to safety.

Gone was the passive, doting Pansy Parkinson who had adored Draco with a fervour unmatched by any other's. In her place was someone no longer recognisable, sunk in misery and wounded pride, and Hermione watched her in grim fascination as the girl screamed and writhed like a wildcat beneath Draco as he tried to wrestle her to the ground, trying to overpower this unexpectedly puissant foe. But with a strength borne of sheer fury and determination she forced him from her, scrambling to her feet and racing, slipping about in the sodden grass and snow, towards Hermione, where Harry stood over her protectively, Ron cradling her head and trying to wake her up.

Hermione saw Harry spread his arms apart, inviting Pansy to take a swing at him as Draco regained his balance, and with a howl animalistic in its intensity Pansy pulled out her wand. Hermione moved to step forward, stand between them until common sense regained control of her brain and she remembered she was only the audience.

Everything seemed to go into slow motion then. Harry ducked Pansy's wild punch and moved to wrestle the wand from her - she swung her arm clear and fastened her hand about his throat, pulling him to the ground - she brought his face close to hers and hissed, 'I warned you, Potter,', before throwing him from her so that he lay spread-eagled on the ground, his glasses knocked off in flight - he scrambled wildly for them as she lifted her wand languidly and began to scream every spell she could think of.

And then there was a blur of black and blonde and Draco lay utterly still on his side, his forehead having struck a stone blanketed with thick snow, the wound opening like a flower, staining the snow crimson. Hermione let out a strangled cry and started to run towards him, convinced by his total lack of movement that he was dead, until he coughed and spluttered and rolled onto his back, clearly in a lot of pain, but alive.

Pansy's eyes had flown open in sheer horror as she realised what she had done, and she ran to her ex-boyfriend, whimpering and crying rivulets of tears, 'Drakey, I'm so sorry, Drakey, I love you, I'm sorry, please,'

Once by his side she knelt down and tenderly put out a hand to stroke his face; with a last effort Draco brought his hand up and pushed her roughly from him as Harry grabbed hold of her from behind, grappling with her and forcing her to the floor, trying to take her wand.

Grey mist seemed to fill Hermione's vision now, seeping in from the edges and as it swirled about her all she could hear was the haunting echoes of Pansy's piercing shrieks and plaintive cries as Harry gradually regained control and her shouts gradually subsided into great wracking sobs which rent the air in two with the force of the misery they bore.

'I did it for you Draco! We belong together, Drakey, you're mine, we can be together now, Draco! You know you love me Drakey, I love you, I love you, DRAKEY! I LOVE YOU! Why aren't you helping me, what did I do wrong, why did you leave me, Drakey-'

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione sniffed and blinked. She put a hand to her face to wipe away tears she hadn't known she'd been shedding.

It was dark in the Hospital Wing now. She looked about slowly, eyes gradually adjusting to the blackness. This was the third time now that she'd watched the memory, each time harder than the last. And not for any reason she would have been expecting.

Because she'd somehow found it in her heart to feel sorry for that pitiful figure who'd held her captive, attacked her friends, attacked the boy she loved. It was hard to hate someone who'd so clearly acted not out of malice but force of emotion; someone so bound up by the love they felt that they could no more extricate themselves from it or see it objectively than they could walk to the moon; someone who had so idolized their amour that when the reality had soured the fantasy had struck back lest it crumbled.

The slow screeching of the door as it shut jerked Hermione from her thoughtful reverie. She squinted through the darkness, tired eyes trying to see who the visitor was, when they discerned a tall figure shuffling slowly toward her. Cool lips found hers hungrily and she found herself responding, the pain exploding in her head blocked as her mouth curved beneath his. It didn't matter anymore.

Somehow, nothing mattered anymore.

**OK, there is chapter nineteen…I'm kind of tempted to leave it at this, since I had an extra bit planned for chapter 20 but I think this is kinda finished now. In case I do leave it, I've loved writing it, so I hope anyone who reads this enjoyed it, as it was a lot of fun to write. And if I do a chapter 20 it will be up soon, but I'm making no promises. **

**Edit: OK, maybe I've left it a bit unclear re the kiss and Pansy's fate, so I _will_ be writing Chapter 20. But that's it. No more after that. **


	20. Some Things Never Change

_Summer is over rated_. Hermione Granger wiped the sweat beading her brow and batted away yet another wasp as she sat hunched over in the little garden, carefully replacing the flowers trampled by Asha as she'd played earlier. _Bring on the autumn. _A song came on the radio she'd twisted to full volume, so that it blasted out of the speakers, and not for the first time Hermione was grateful that their home was so out of the way. A smile twisted her lips as the song played out, gently teasing the memory from her.

…_.You know I'm such a fool for you, _

_You've got me wrapped around your finger_

_Do you have to let it linger…_

She knew it was a song about heartbreak, and yet for Hermione it brought only happy memories. She closed her eyes as a cascade of memories flowed in, sitting on her knees in the long grass, hair moving gently in the breeze, and she inhaled the golden scent of summer as she had breathed in the smell of him that night.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_His pale skin glows beneath the light of a thousand candles as they float about, contrasting against the dark of his robes. She can see the worry behind his grey eyes as he dartingly glances over, and finally she has had enough. Making her way forcefully through the throng of people littered about the place, she grabs his hand. _

'_Dance with me?'_

_The shock on his face as she finally dares do this is nothing to the expressions of the rest of the Hall. But she doesn't care. They have been through too much now for her to care what people think, and taking his hand firmly she pulls him to the dance floor. A song has struck up, and for once it is Muggle, one she recognizes, though still sung by the Weird Sisters, and placing her hands around his neck she begins the dance. _

_The buzzing that fills the Hall somehow does not affect her ears as she stares into his eyes, silently telling him that it is okay. Nothing matters anymore. And as he soul-kisses her to the gasps of the crowds, she knows that it's true. _

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

A sudden noise disturbed her from her reverie and she opened her eyes to see him knelt before her.

'Our song again?' He said, and she smiled up at him. 'One day you'll get sick of it, you know, and then what will you do?'

Hermione reached out for his hand and he pulled her up, pulling her close to him so that his lips found hers and the dirt on her cheeks smudged on his. She kissed him hungrily, hands gently trailing the hairs on the back of his neck.

'I'll find another one, of course.'

And then he was kissing her again and she didn't care.

When they finally came up for air her cheeks were pink and he hugged her to him. Six years had passed since their first 'official' date, though of course they had been dating several months before then without it being public knowledge, and still he found her just as beautiful, just as amazing as he had as a seventeen year old boy. Motherhood had not diminished her character; if anything it had strengthened it, and their daughter Asha, though bearing the white-blonde hair and wolf eyes of her father, was truly her mother's daughter - intelligent, determined and head-strong.

That first dance had set in motion a chain of events which even now, looking back, Draco was unsure he would want to change. He had expected ridicule from all sides at school for 'lowering' himself (a careless comment for which Blaise Zabini dearly paid - the skin on his left cheek had never quite been the same since Draco had furiously hexed him, though he saw past it now). But aside from the initial fortnight of mutterings and whispers, nothing bad had come his way, or Hermione's for that matter, and he guessed that Harry and Ron had had a little something to do with this. Sometimes, being associated with the Golden Boy did have its advantages.

On the downside, his father had never since spoken to him. After that terrible row, Draco had been banished from the house, forbidden under any circumstances to contact any of the family - the family he was now no longer part of. It had hurt Draco deeply, but he knew that his father would never come round to his way of thinking. All Lucius Malfoy knew was that his only child had brought unimaginable shame upon them; he had disgraced the name of Malfoy, and so was unfit to bear it. He had furiously burned every letter Draco owled him; he would cross the road to avoid him in the street or else Apparate away; he would not allow him to cross the threshold of his home. As far as Lucius Malfoy was concerned, he had no son, and he and his wife lived alone.

It had nearly broken Draco to note the empty seat at his wedding where his father should have been. His mother had sneaked to it, at great personal cost, but as she had whispered feverishly to him, 'It's my only son's wedding day. How could I live with myself if I stayed away from it?' That day, Draco had finally accepted the situation. Some things would never change.

Now, his hands found Hermione's hair and his fingers wrapped themselves in her curls as he kissed her face softly, drawing back slightly as they grazed the scar on the back of her head.

'Are we visiting today?' she asked him gently, knowing what he had found. He nodded silently, and she removed herself from his embrace. 'I'll get Asha ready then.'

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry opened the door almost as soon as Hermione had finished knocking, and was immediately hit by a tiny blonde whirlwind as Asha propelled herself forward and clasped her arms tightly around his waist. She loved her 'Uncle Harry' and told him so at every possible occasion. He had grown even taller since their school days, though he had at last filled out a bit, just falling short of being a true 'beanpole.' His hair was still an unruly crop of black tangles, which he had long since given up trying to tame, and anyway, as Ginny pointed out regularly, sometimes the messy look was sexier.

'I know it's a bit of a cheek but could you just watch her for an hour or so, Harry?' Hermione's voice was uncertain. She hated asking for favours.

Harry grinned. 'Course I can.'

'Are you sure?'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Course I am. Anyway, Ron's coming over later - he's more trouble than Ash any day!' Asha giggled conspiratorially and ran inside the house, calling out Ginny's name.

The little girl gone, Harry's expression sobered. 'I take it you're going to see Pansy?' Hermione bit her lip and Harry knew. 'I don't know why you do it, Hermione. She's never getting better, and it only upsets you.'

Hermione glanced back at the car. Draco sat in the driver's seat, hands gripping the wheel tightly, staring straight ahead. 'I know.' she said. 'But he feels guilty over what happened. This sort of…helps him.'

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sitting in St Mungo's twenty minutes later, Hermione wasn't so sure. It was a sad fact that since the big showdown, Pansy's mental health had steadily decreased, and despite the nurses constant assurances that she was improving, Hermione doubted she would ever be normal again. She seemed to have broken inside; it was as if she were stuck on a loop, forever reliving that day. She had been incarcerated in St Mungo's then, and had not left it since.

Sometimes, she only sat in silence, refusing to answer anyone's questions, staring resolutely ahead, picking carelessly at the hem of her white gown. Sometimes her entire body was wracked with sobs, so that her face was masked with tears and she physically trembled with sorrow, and hid her face away from sight. Sometime she seemed almost lucid, normal, and you could have a conversation with her.

And sometimes, like today, she would be filled with rage, and nothing you could say or do would placate her.

'Why did you do it, Draco, I loved you, I love you,' she muttered furiously, eyes fixed steadily on Draco's like a feral cat. Hermione could see the hurt in his eyes and wanted to strike Pansy down for causing it - at the same time she wanted to smooth away the pain in his tormentor's own heart, a hurt she knew she was in part, even if inadvertently, a cause of.

'You lied to me, Drakey, you led me on, you let me believe, and look what happened…I love you but you hurt me, why did you hurt me? You don't love me do you? Do you?' She fixed her gaze on him, leaning close to his face, and he glanced uncertainly at Hermione.

'No, you never loved me, never, never, _NEVER, NEVER!!' _Her voice rose to a shriek and she made to leave her chair to strike him, but two nurses rushed forward, anticipating her next moves, and pulled her back, restraining her.

'I think you'd better go now. She's getting upset.'

Hermione didn't need telling twice, and the two of them stood up, shrugging on their coats and turning to leave.

And as Pansy's animal cries and shrieks filled the corridors as she screamed with all her might, Hermione felt the sadness in Draco and she reached for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Stopping in the corridor she pulled him into a tight hug, whispering words of comfort into his ear, reminding him that she loved him, and gradually he relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy the closeness of her.

Some things would never change. And some things, she wouldn't change for the world.

THE END

**And there it is. Sweet Madness is FINISHED, and I will henceforth only be touching it to edit and tweak. There will be NO new chapters WHATSOEVER (sorry). Hope you liked it :D And if I've missed a loose end, let me know and I will tie it up pronto. **

**Au revoir!**


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